

6-35 




V.nur.-a accorvUnt:- to act o' »., -iiu-tss- in.. ■ ■• ■■ , .: 
(?*Zcftm<. in the office of the Librarian of CongreBB. at Washington, 

|J^"ALL BIGHTS RESERVED. 



THE mm UVERT 



A HlSTOBlOiLIji DRAMA 



I3Sr jF'IVSS Jk.OTS, 



'^ 



BY 



William f Pilchr^es- 






UNION, N. Y. DF' EMBER 1 1876. 





■;| r;^n 











T"P9?-00926 7 






->, s 



7 



Dramatis Pee\sonnab. 



-<«>J*io*- 



Henry, Prince of Navarre. 

Charles IX, King of France. 

Admiral Coligny 

Gaston de Mornay, Lomr to Margurette. 

Etienne, A blind Man. 

Robert, a guardsman. 

Duke de Anjou, brother to Charles IX. 

Cardinal of Lorraine. 

Jeanne, Queen of Navarre. 

Catherine de Medici, mother to Charles IX. 

Margurette de Valois, her daughter. 

Louise de Villemont, lady in waiting to Jeanne. 

Therese, Nurse to Louise. 

Cavaliers, Peasants, Guards, etc. 



\ 



Synopsis of Scenery. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. A Chamber in the palace of Jeanne. 
II. Reception roomi,, " " " 
III. Cottage of Titerese. 

ACT II. 



SCENE 1. Courtyard of palace at Navarre. 

II. Chamber in the palace at Paris. 

III. Gallery " '' " '' 

IV. Room in the cottage of Tfierese. 

ACT III. 



SCENE I. Htate chamber of the Louvre. 

n. A Gallery in the palace in Paris. 

III. Bower in garden of *' " " 

IV. A chamber in the " " " 
V. Cabinet of Catherine de Medici. 



'{ 



A I 



\i 



'I t / 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. S;ame as Aot II., Scene I. 

II. Chamber of Charles IX. 

III. Grand salon in the Louvre. 

IV. Same as Scene I. 

V. Chamber of De Mornay. 

VI. Room in the cottage of Therese. 

VII. Great Gate Of NOTRE DAME. 

ACT V. 



>^CENE I. Same as Act II., Scene II. 

II. A Chamber in the palace. 

III. Tableau — Massacre of St. Bar- 

THOLEMEW. 

IV. Banquettlng room. 

V. Chamber in the palace at Paris. 

VI. Same as Scene IV. 

VII. (Chamber in the palace. 



THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

A C T I 

Scene I. Chamher in the castle of Jeanne, at Navarre. 
ii'«ie?' Jeamne, L. hurriedly. 

Jeanne. I fear my suppositions are too true. The wily 
Catherine hath sent the Cardinal with a proffer of marriage 
to Henry, and he, flattered by the offer, and urged on by 
his ambition, favors the union. My boy ! my poor boy ! ! 
Did you but know, as I have known, the treachery and de- 
ceit of these Medicis you woiUd rather lose yoiir young life 
than wed with a daughter of that race. What sad forebod- 
ing is this which fills my soul's deepest depth, that if this 
marriage is consumated it will result in the destruction of 
my dear boy, and of my people ! ! Away such idle, supersti- 
tious fears ! I must be firm and act at once ; and yet my 
soul is shrouded in gloom. Alas ! I am a queen, and yet I am 
but a simple vv^oman. Oh, Thou great being, guide and di- 
rect me in this great trial. Be near to comfort and sustain 
me. 

Enter Henry R. 
Well, my son, what is the pui'port of the Cardinal's visit ? 

Henry. The Cardinal of Lorraine has just returned from 
Rome. From hints that he has dropped, I have reason to 
believe that the Papal Court has granted absolution for my 
marriage with our cousin Maro'urette. 



2 THE CRIMSON LIVERY, 

Jean. Such, I imagined to be his errand. 

Hen. He awaits you in the banquet room. 

Jean. Heui-y, for years Catherine de Medici hath plotted 
and worked for this end. 

Hen. Mother, this is ungenerous ! 

Jean. Not so, my son, I have feared this for many 
months. 

Hen. Feared it, mother ? Surely you will not now op- 
pose this marriage ? 

Jean. If I thought this union would favor your interests, 
Henry, I would most gladly consent. 

Hen. It will, mother, never fear. 

Jean. Ah ! my boy you do not know these Medicis. They 
seek power, and would fain make you their tool. 

Hen. Is not the offer just and proper ? 

Jean. It hath an appearance of honesty, but there is 
deceit behind it. The mask that covers it is too well placed 
for your young eyes to pierce it. 

Hen. Mother, why this hesitancy. I tell you the offer 
is an honest, and a courteous one. 

Jean. This thing, Henry, I too well know, that beneath 
a show of courtesy, Catherine de Medici and her son have 
ever concealed the deepest treachery. 

Ken. This is weak and womanish. You allow your fears 
to over come your better judgment. 

Jean. No, no, my sou. Oh, would that you could be 
ruled by your mother, and dismiss all thoughts of this al- 
liance. 

Hen. Then I must relenquish all hopes of the future. 
Surely, your love for me should forbid these womanish fears 
to stand in the way of my advancement. 

Jean. Oh, Henry, were I but sure that it would be for 
your advancement, I would not hesitate. But how will it 
advance your interest, and those of your people ? 



THE CRIMSON LIVERT, 



Hen. I am powerless without the assistance of France. 
Charles, once my brother-in-law, must aid me in resisting 
the invasions of Philip, of Spain. Cannot you see this, fair 
mother ? 

Jean. How little do you know Charles IX ! ! Have you 
not spent years enough at the court of France to know that 
he is false and treacherous beyond comparison, save with 
that fearful woman, of whom he is the fitting son. Those 
Medici, Henry. I fear them ! 

Hen. And why ? 

Jean. They kill with gentle words — a pressure of the 
hand — aye, even a smile. My son, I conjure you, do not 
place your destiny in their hands. 

Hen. Fie ! fie ! mother. Your dislike to Catherine 
renders you unjust. They cannot harm me, and, more- 
over, you know that my fate has been predicted. I am to 
be the king of France. 

Jean, [fingTily) Leave superstitous follies like that to 
(Catherine ; they are worthy of her but degrade you. 

Hen. After ihe banquet the Cardinal will demand an 
audience of you, madam. Promise me that you will not 
reject Charles' offer. 

Jean. Oh, my son, I beseech you at least delay this fear- 
ful alliance. 

Hen. It cannot be. 

Jean. Consider, Henry, that older heads than thine 
would refuse the proffered hand of Margurette of Valois. 
■ I need council. 

Hen. Then you shall have it, for I hear the Admiral's 
step. I bade him meet me here. 

Henry opens door, Q, and Qoligny enters. Come in, my best 
friend, and join your persuasions with mine. Induce my 
mother, if you can, to <5ast aside her womanish fears, and 
consent to the fulfillment of my desires. 

Jean. Do 3'ou advise me to this step, Admiral. 

CoEiGNY. I do, Madam. I beheve that the union of 



4 THE CRIMSON LIVERY, 

your noble son with a daughter of the house of France 
woiild be the most auspicious event that could transpire for 
his happiness and the welfare of his people. 

Jean. Heaven help me, Heaven help me, for I am sorely 
beset. 

CoLiG. Calm yourself, my queen, and tell me. Is there 
any well-founded reason for this refusal ? 

Jean. Nay, I have nothing to oppose to your arguments 
save a mother's prophetic foresight of danger which men- 
aces her son. In what shape it wiH come I know not, but 
the vei-y thought chills my heart to ice. 

CoLiG. This weakness is unlike you. I beseech your 
highness to reflect well on the consequences of a refusal to 
Charles. If this match be broken off now, your sou will 
make a dangerous enemy, and you know what it is to have 
the hatred of a Medicis. 

Jean. Alas ! I know too well— and yet their fiiendship is 
more to be dreaded. 

CoLiG. I would not urge this, my leige, were I not 
certain it would advance our cause. Consider. Charles, for 
once, may be honest, and even were it otherwise, it would 
not do to refuse as powerful an offer as this. 

Jean. Give me still a little time for reflection. 

Hen. I trust, fair queen, that refleciiion will change your 
opinion. 

Jean. I will converse with this Lorraine, whom I fear as 
much as his mistress. Our faith has no more bigoted per- 
secutors than his family, and he is the most intolerant and 
unscruplous of them all. 

CoLiG. The cause has good reason to fear and despise 
such a man. Perhaps after you have conversed with him, 
the offer may seem plainer and more distinct. 

Jean. You know me well, my good CoHgny, and wiU not 
believe me capable of opposing any step that can lead to my 
son's happiness. 



/ 



5 THE CRIMSON LIVBEY, 

CoLiG, My queen, it hath ever been your highness' aim 
to advance the welfare of your people and the interests of 
your son, consistent with the professions of our church. 

Jean. And you, Henry, cannot doubt the affection your 
mother bears you, you an only child — the last scion of the 
house of Navarre— can you wonder at my solicutude? 

Hen. ( drops on knee) I never doubted yonr love for me. 
I know that in all the wide world I shall never find another 
friend like you, and did I not perceive that this great love 
alone excited groundless fears. I would immediately, and at 
any cost, refuse this marriage. But it must be, for on this 
alliance, and on this alone, our little kingdom depends for 
for its future safety. 

Jean. You may be right, my son, you may be right. 
Heaven gra)it you may be. 

Hen. And now, moi ahere mere, let US make ready for the 
banquet ; it waxes late. You will live to see jvour Henry 
king of France, yet. ( throws his arm around Jeanne) 

( 'oLiG. Trust me, my queen, all things are for the best. 
Gratify your people b}' complying unrepiningly with your 
son's wishes. 

Jean. Ah, Admiral, you know that the easiest way to 
touch a mother's heai^t is through her love for her child. 
Now leave me, my friend. I must summon my women. 

( Exeunt Qoligny and Henry, if. ) 
I can do nothing ; this bridal must take place. At least I 
pray that Heaven may spare me while my counsels and 
presence can be necessary to my son. ( Exit, L^ 



( 



THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 



Scene II. A Chamber in the palace at Navarre. 
Enter Cardinal of Lorraine, R, Jeanne, L. 

Jean. Your Highness is welcome to my poor manor. 

Card. And a right regal dwelling it is, worthy of her 
who so nobly graces it. I have rarely seen so lovely a view. 

Jean. You flatter, most noble sir. 

Card. Your majesty, I come by the will of Charles IX 
of France, with the offer of the hand of Margurette of Valois 
to your noble son, Henry of Navarre. 

Jean. It hath ever been my wish to have the most friend- 
ly relations exist between the court of Charles and my own. 
This marriage would bind us still closer. The offer of your 
king is accepted : you have your answer. 

Card. I rejoice at your Majesty's decision. I must re- 
turn with all speed to Paris, for my sovereign will be 
anxious to learn the good tidings I shall bear. Within a 
fortnight their Majesties will look for your highness at 
their court, and the bridal may take place without further 
delay. 

Jean. I have pronounced, and will keep my word. I 
hope that all concerned are as sincere and open-hearted in 
the matter as I am. 

Card. Rest assured, madam, that Charles desires nothing 
but his sister's happiness. Your son is not only his cousin, 
but the dearest friend of his childhood, and you know that 
even Catherine hath planned this union during the very 
infancy of her royal daughter. 

Jean. May all the happiness result from this wedlock j 
which your eminence predicts. 

Card. It cannot be otherwise, for Henry of Navarre is 
considered of the noblest of the realm, while Margurette. 
young and lovely, is sister to the King of France. 



r 



7 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Jean. Heaven grant them happiness ! With your per- 
mission I will now say good night, for it is late and I have 
ridden far to-day. 

Card. I will say good bye and depart immediately for 
Paris, fiu rtvoir^ your majesty. ( Exit, !() 

Jean. Again these heavy forebodings ! What can they 
mean? I must see Henry. (Icings bell-) 

Enter Louise de Villemont, L. 
Tell the Prince that I wish to speak to him. Where is he. 
Louise ? 

Lou. In the dancing hall, I believe, madam. 
Jean. And why are you not there, also Louise ? You 
should have stationed a page in the ante-room, and joined 
your companions, instead of moping alone in these dull 
apartments. 

Lou. I did not care to dance this evening, madam. 
Jean. What ails you, girl ; you look ill. Tell me, what 
is the matter. 

Lou. Your majesty is too kind. I am not ill, only weary 
with the lono- excursion lo-day.' 

Jean. You look so, in truth. Bid some one summon the 
pi'ince, and hie you to bed. The late hours are di-iving the 
color from your cheeks. Go, mig-nonne, and dream of all 
the gayeties in store. We are going away speedily from this 
dull place — does not that please you, my little one. 

Leu. No place is ever dull when I am near my kind 
mistress. 

Jean. I believe you, Louise, and such devotion is doubly 
precious just now, for your queen's heart is very sad. She 
has great need of all the love her subjects can bestow. 

Lou. Their best affections are always yours, madam, 
and if you are to leave them they will count the days till 
you return. 

Jean. I must part with them for a time, Louise, but you 






8 THE CRIMSON LIVERT. 

will accompany me. You have been my favorite — nay, my 
my friend — too long for me to leave you behind. Besides 
I shall require to surround myself with youth and beauty. 
Your queen must not be wholly eclipsed at Catherine's court. 

Lou. Madam — I — I — ( agitated) 

Jean. What ails you, child ? 

Lou. It was but a momentary spasm, your highness. 
You was speaking of — of Paris — 

Jean. Nay, Loiiise, do not deceive me, You are ill. 

Lou. No, only weary. 

Jean. Then retire and dream of the festivities — 

Lou. Thanks, thanks, my queen. ( agitated) 

Je.^n. Do not pain me by this secrecy. I know that you 
are suffering greatly, my child. You have found me always 
an indulgent mistress and a true friend, can you not trust 
me. You have been very dear to me all these years and I 
cannot bear to see you suffering and unwiUing to confide in 
me. Tell me, my little one, what has come upon you^speak 
to me not as to your queen, but a friend— as one high-born 
woman may to another. 

Lou. You would scorn me — spurn me from your side, 
did you know all. ( going, L) 

Jean. No, no, Louise, you must not go, I must know all 
now. 

Lou. Oh, not to you, not to you. Let me go, madam, I 
beseech you, — this is no place for me. 

Jean. Ah ! a light breaks in upon me — Henry — 

Lou. {throwing hers.lf at Jeaine's feet) Forgive me, 
madam, forgive me. 

Jean. There is nothing to forgive, for I know that you 
are innocent of all but a love, which, powerful as it was, 
could never have have persuaded you to wrong. 

Lou. And you not hate — you do not cast me forth. 

Jean. Hush, hush, Louise, you wrong my heart by such 
a doubt. We have no need of explanations, we must have 



9 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

none. If there can be any blame, it falls on me. I should 
have remembered, but in my selfishness I forgot everything. 

Lou. Oh, madam — 

Jean. It is true, Louise, but it is, alas, too late to repent. 
Now for the future, since regrets for the past would avail 
nothing. I am going to Paris — 

Lou. Do not force me to go, oh, do not, have pity on me. 

Jean. Can you believe me capable of such cruelty, 
Louise ? You will remain here till my return, and then — 

Lou. I pray you, madam, let me go back to the forsaken 
home of my fathers — it will be better for me to remain there. 

Jean. Will you leave me, Louise, will you leave me alone ? 

Lou. Alas, alas, I am very wretched ; pardon the selfish- 
ness it awakens. 

Jean. Now to your chamber. Good night, my poor, 
suffering child, i kisses Louise) 

Exit Jeanne, , Louise, L. 



Scene III. Cottage of Therese. 

Theuese discovered R, Etienne seated, L. 

Enter Louise, door in Jlat, L. 

Ther. Ah, madamoiselle, welcome. See, see, here is 
blind old Etienne, who has traveled all the way from Lan- 
guedoc, with his dog. 

Lou. {taking- both of 'ETiEyisE'shaids) Is it indeed you, 
my poor Etienne. What can have brought you here ? 

Etien. It is her voice. I never thought to have heard 
it again. I feared that I had listened for the last time to 
the sweet tones which were a heritage to the ladies of Ville- 
mont. Oh, my dear young mistress, God be praised, I am 
near you once more. 

Lou. My poor old friend, was it for this you were tempt- 
ed to make that wearisome journey. 



/ 



10 THE CRIM&ON LIVERY. 

Etien. No, no. Quick, I have no time to lose — the 
spirit impelled me, and I obeyed. Call them hither ; bid 
them listen and take heed. 

Lou. Etienne, Etienne, what does this mean? Your 
look is terrible — your voice unearthly — tell me why you 
have come hither, and who it is that you would caution^thus. 

Etien. I have come to threaten and to warn. Summon 
him, bid him listen to the voice of one who speaks by com- 
mand — as he values his country's peace, let him heed the 
voice of an old man whose hght is from beyond the grave. 

Lou. Of whom do you speak, Etienne ; who must be 
warned. 

Etien. Henry of Navarre ! 

Lou. What danger threatens him ? Answer, Etienne, 
of the Prince. 

Etien. This too ! I knew it — but put the thought away, 
poor child, poor lamb. 

Lou. Tell me, Etienne. You frighten me with this 
strange look. 

Ther. He has been thus ever since he came. I don't 
know what to make of it, but old Etienne always could 
prophecy. 

Etien. You are right, and my life has not been spared 
to this great age in vain. I come to save Navarre from 
ruin, her prince from that which will prove worse than death. 

Lou. Tell me all, Etienne, that I may repeat him 
your words. 

Etien. Not so. In his presence, only, will I speak. 
Summon him if ye would hear. 

Ther. I see the prince now, madamoiselle, he is riding 
down the hill with a couple of followers. He will pass the 
house. 

Etien. Bid him enter. It is God who sends him hither. 



11 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Exit Therese, door in fiat, and retiirns with Henry. 
Hen. Why, Louise, my while dove, what brings you 
here at this time of the morning ? In the dress you wore 
at last night's banquet, too. That is strange. 

Lou. Pardon, sire, something frightened me or I had 
not ventured to stay your course so rudely. 
Hen. Louise I this tone, 

Lou. Henry, then. Do not be angry, but hsten. There 
is an old man here — a retainer of my family — who demands 
speech with you. 

Hen. What business can he have that is so pressing iu 
its nature, little one. 

Lou. He has come to warn — to counsel — I know not 

what. Only listen to him, I beseech you. He is very old, 

and has ever possessed strange power to read the future. 

Hen. Nay, nay, he can have nought to reveal to me — my 

future is already decided. Let me return. 

Lou. For MY sake, Heniy, I beseech you listen to him. 
Ken. That plea is unanswerable always, but in faith you 
would be wiser to go back to the castle, and hsten no more 
to this old dotard. 

Etien. Henry of Navarre, approach and hsten to me. 
You have come, it is well. 

Hen. What is your business with me, 'my good friend. 
Etien. I am sent to warn you, prince of Navarre — take 
good heed that you despise not the counsel I bring. 

Hen. Nay, nay, as for that I do not relish any counsel 
overmuch. But let me hear what you have to say. 

Etien. He mocks, he mocks. Heaven help him ! Young 
man, beware ! The heavens are now dark, your path leads 
into new scenes, but the path is red with blood — the air 
rent with the death cries of your people. 

Hen. Speak plainly, old man ; I have no time to lose 
deciphering riddles. • 



1 

/ 



12 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Etien. Listen, then. I am sent by a power which is 
greater than that of kings to bid you pause in the step you 
are about to take. Look for the tempest when you seem 
nearest the reahzation of your hopes. 

Hen. This is folly. Let me go, Louise, I have no time 
to spend thus. 

Lou. Only a moment, for my sake, Henry. 
Etien. No, not for your sake, it is not that which will 
make him stay. Your love is chaff to him. Lady of Ville- 
mont, Margurette ef Valois has usurped your place. 

(JjOVJSE falls into a seat.) 
You would wed the princess of France. Stir not a step, for 
I warn yon the marriage liveries will be crimson* crimson, 
crimson. 

Hen. Peace, dotard ! 

Etien. I wiU not peace. The power which has brought 
me here and bids me utter these words, is higher than your 
own, and again I say, wed not with the house of Medicis, 
nest not with the serpent whose sting is fatal. 
(Louise starts up.) 
Hen. Louise, Louise I ( extends his arms to her) 
Lou. No, no, only speak — is it true — do you return to 
France V 

Etien. He is silent, he dare not speak. It is true ! ! 
He seeks to wed Margurette of France, but I warn him — 
war and bloodshed shall be his guests at the nuptial 
banquets — shame and disgrace shall stand beside the mar- 
riage bed — ^the groans of his people shall wake him from 
his rest. 

Lou. Henry, Henry, answer me one word. I cannot 
believe this — you would not have decieved me by this long 
silence ; nay, I did not mean to speak that cruel word, but, 
tell me that he raves — only a look, a smile, and I will give 
no heed to this old man. 



v; 



./ 



13 THE CRIMSON LIVERT. 

Etien. I tell you he dare not. Look, look ! I see it 
now ; nearer it sweeps — how high the billows roll — a sea of 
blood. It swells and widens — out of the great gates of that 
mighty palace it pours — the streets of the city are flowing 
with it — the royal chambers are dyed — the marriage couch 
is crimson — blood, blood, everywhere blood. 

Lou. Horrible ! Oh, Henry, answer me ; is it true ? 
You will not go ! 

Hen. Aye, though I tread upon every pulse in my heart 
and in yours, this hand shall yet grasp the crown of France. 

Lou. Ah! ( shrieks and faints in Hej^ixy's arms,) 

Hen. Away, old woman. Take this old dotard away. 

( Exit Therese and Etienne, C.) 
Louise, my own sweet dove, look up, look up, 

Lou. i reviving-) Where have I been ? Was it a fearful 
dream — the words of that old man — *' the marriage liveries 
shall be crimson ?" No, it was no dream ! You are going 
to Paris, Henry, going to be married. 

Hen. Do not talk of that now. Calm yourself and I 
will speak with you to-morrow. You will be stronger then. 

Lou. No, no, only let me know the worst at once. I 
could not endure another night of such suspense as the last. 

Hen. Only be calm, Louise. This agitation is killing 
you, unnerving me, and I have need of all my strength. 

Lou. I am calm. See, I do not weep. I might have 
known that this would be the end. I should have felt that 
tiappiness like mine oould only be a dream. 

Hen. You must see, Louise, that I am forced to act as I 
lio. An alliance with the house of France is the only meas- 
ure that can save my poor kingdom. I require the wealth 
and power which will accrue from this source. 

Lou. A few months ago you cared for neither, but asked 
only to be left in quiet here in your own castle. You are 
changed since then. 



14 THE CRIMSON LIVERY, 

Hen. Do not reproach me, Louise. 

Lou. I will not ; there is no bitterness in my heart ; it is 
too utterly crushed for any feeling of anger. I only marvel 
at my own blindness. 

Ken. By Heaven, Louise, you wrong me. I loved — still 
love you, but I am a prince, doomed to be the slave of my 
own rank. 

Lou. I do not question of myself — only answer me — do 
you love her, the woman who is to become your wife. 

Hen. Love Margurtitte de Valois ? I shall make her my 
wife because state policy demands it, but rest content, lady 
mine, there will be no compact of affection on either side. 
Madam Margurette loves her liberty too much for that, and 
as for me, you know full well that I have no heart to give 
in return for hers, if she had one. 

Lou. And this it is to be born a princess, this it is to be 
a king. The meanest peasant in your realm is free to 
choose whereso'er his heart wills, while you, a monarch, are 
but the slave of your own greatness. 

Hen. Even so, Louise. Believe me, the humblest boor 
in my realm is freer than his master. 

Lou. You are going away and in a short time the mem- 
ories of the past months will be forgot. 

Hen. No, Louise, never ! Think you I can forget. 

Lou. At least the}- will appear to you onlj^ as a pleasant 
dream. I do not blame you, Henry ; I should have known 
that it would be tluis, but I had no thought beyond the 
moments \vhich opened to me a new life. This great castle 
seemed so grim and dismal before your arrival. When I 
first came here it looked more lonely than my father's dark 
old mansion in Guienne, where I spent my childhood in 
in watching over his sick couch. At his death the queen of 
Navarre sent for me to reside at her court. I came, She 
made me ahiiost her friend. Ah, how I loved to listen to 



h 



15 THE CKTMSON l.IVKRT 

to her confidouceH, for she spoke always of her abaeut sou, 
Henry, and I learned to love you lonj^ before I saw your 
face. You came and for a time you diil not appear to 
notice me. I remember when you first offerad me your 
hand for the dance. Wlien your mother saw you hmd me 
out she said so kindly, " That is right, Henry, have a carp 
for my little Louise." .Ifter that, for mouths, life was one 
long drc^am of delight. I lived only in your presence — had 
no tlioaght you did not share. .Vnd you — you setsmed to 
li)ve me. Oh, Henry tell me that I did not (ieceive myself. 
If the future is dark let me have the past. 

Hen. I did not deceive you. my little one. 1 loved you. 
1 swear to you that this seperation is breaking my heart, 
i>ut I iuu compelle<l to go. 

Loi;. I would not bid you stay, Henry ; do not think me 
s(jlfish <'ui)ugh t.) stand between you and any purpose that 
can [)r(»inotc your greatness. Only tell me that you will 
sometimes think of me, that you will refer to the past with 
feelings of |)leasure, even though you may nof desire its 
(•(!t(U'ii. .Vs for me, I shall go back to my old castle, A 
few of t\ir. f imiiy retainers yet dwell in the old castle of my 
iui('<;si,ors, ,iud they will clierish the last poor child of a per- 
ished race. 

Hkn. Neviu'. Voii sliall not go — you cannot leave my 
mother. Sht' iuhmIs your care, your sweet, untiring devo- 
tion. 

Lor. .V.nother will take my place. She whom you bi'ing 
to tliese walls as its royal mistress will be a more 
rit ting (H)m[>anion to her majesty. Lnt me go away, I should 
(lie to remain here. 

Hkn. 1 will not permit it, Louise. You shall not go. 

Lor. Do you think I will remain here after the arrival 
:■>['-- ( hii,rie-:'ke7\fa::e in, her Ixands ) 



16 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Hen. My mother will be alone for a season after her re- 
turn from Paris. Promise me, Louise, that you will not 
leave her. 

, Lou. Forgive me. Do not bid me do this. Oh, Henry, 
I should go mad. 

Hen. It would be worse to stay in Gruienne. 
Lou. I will stay, I will stay. It may kill me — but I obey 
you, Henry, my king. {seizes his hand and kisses it 

Hen. My own brave Louise. We will talk of this another 
time — this marriage need not seperate us — Margurette will 
claim no share in my heart ; as ever, it shall be all your own. 
Lou. Hush, Henry. Even from you I wiU not listen to 
such language. I will remain here, I have promised, but 
ask nothing more. 

Hen. You will go to Paris. 

Lou. If my mistress desires it I shall not refuse, and 
whatever suffering I may endure, the consciousness that I 
have given her pleasure and obeyed your commands, will 
console me. 

Hen. Command i- a harsh word, Louise. If I urge this 
visit to Paris, it is becaxise 1 feel how necessary your pres- 
ence will be to me and the queen. 
Lou. Thanks, Henry, thanks. 

Hen. Louise, hear me. I will forego this marrigae, only 
say that— 

Lou. Unhand me, Henry. Remember the astrologer's 
prediction you are to be the king of France. 

Hen. It . must be so ; it would be useless to straggle 
against fate, but I will take good heed that neither my heart 
nor this poor girl's, be crushed beneath the granduer which 
for a time will seperate us. 

Lou. I must go now, the queen of Navarre will require 
my presence. Adieu, Henry. 

Hen. Louise, one moment hear me. 



/ 



17 THE CniMSON MVERY. 

Lou. Farewell Henry. ( Ent, door, 0) 

Ken. These feelings will soon be over and they shall 
not frighten iny white dove from the heart which has so 
long been its resting place. As she says, I am to be the 
king of France. ( Exit, Q) 



ACT. II. 

Scene I. Courtyard of the pala ce at Navarre. 
Discovers cavaliers and ladies mahing preparation for the journey 
to Paris. 

Jeanne and Louise in front. 
Lou. Heaven grant you a safe journey, my lady. 
Jean. Thanks, Louise ; I trust it will' be. But it is with 
many sad forebodings that I leave you. 

Lou. Nay, my kind mistress, you will speedily return. 
Je.'^.n. Would that I were sure of it, but the voice within 
me seems to say that I shall never return. 

Lou. ( aside Ah, those fears and the words of that old 
man. Is it prophetic of danger? 
Jean. Did ou speak, Louise ? 

Lou. I was only talking to myself, your majesty will 
excuse me. 

Jean. I shall sadly miss you, my little one. 
Lou. [ aside] I shall be nearer than you imagine. You 
will be so surrounded by splendor that you will have no 
time to think of those you leave behind. 

Jean. Trust me, I shall never forget yoii. 
Lou. I must say farewell now. 

Jean. Farewell. This parting will not be for long, we 
shall meet, and be happy once more, 

Lou. [ tsidej In Heaven. I pray you, madam, let me 
he spared all other partings. 



18 THK CRIMSON LIVERY 

Jean. It shall be as yoii will. The God in whom we 
trust, protect and bless you, my child. And now, farewell. 

[ they embraoe Exit LoulSE, L. 
Enter Henby. R, who salutes Jeanne. 
Hen. How beautiful yow are this moruiug, madam. The 
queen of Navarre and her pretcy maidens will become the 
marvel of the French court. 

Jean, If they do not laugh at our obsolete manners. 1 
U;ivenot forgotten my last visit to Blois, when the daughter 
of the Florentine merchant ventured to question the cut of 
my robe. 

Hen. But you soon silenced her. 

Jean. A.ye, for I quietly replied that she ought of good 
right to be skilled in such knowledge. 

Hen. Poor Catharine, how did she bear a rebuke like that. 
Je.'^.x. Ill enough, as you may imagine. But if all is 
ready let us go. 

Hen. Coliofiiy is without. He will be so gallant a com- 
panion that you will scarce have time to regret the 
absence of your rude Bearnais. 

Jean. Do not jest, Henry. I tell you that even 
luiw the thought of this journey frightens me. 

Hen. No, mother, no, I pray you. Have done with 
fi^ars — remember your promise. 

Jean. True, but this seperation, brief as it is, pains me- 
Would that the matter had l)een differently arranged, and 
you were to accompany me, instead of going to those rude 
Ouiennes, who received you so cavalierly upon your last visit. 
Hen. No fear of that. If they prove refractory, I shall 
soon be able to teach them that it is no longer safe to trifle 
with the son of their sovereign. But it is time I was on 
the road. 



19 THE CRIMSON J.I VERY. 

Jean. throwing her arm s around Henry. ) Ob, my, l)oy 
would that you were goiug with me. I feel that I shall 
^ever look upon you again. 

Hen . Cheer up, mother. You will laugh at these foolish 
fears when you meet me safe in Paris. 

Jean. I am ready now. Whatever happens, Henry, do 
not forget how devotedly your poor mother loved you. 
Enter Colignv. L 
Col. Fortunate the journey that commences with so 
bright a sun. Your majesty's will be a very happy one, if 
there be any truth in the augury. 

Jean. Ah, Admiral, you are growing young again. It is 
only boyhood that dares to be so hopeful. 

Col. The prospect of happiness and peace for your noble 
son and this fair kingdom are enough to make me a boy 
:igain. Your majesty knows that I have no other enjoy- 
ment left in life. 

Jean. I believe you, my kind Coligny, I believe yon. Ah 
Admirj'l, after all, I have many blessings. Where is there 
another queen who possesses such a real friend. 
Hen. Madame De Villemont is late. 
Jean. She does not go to Paris. 

Hen. { fiercely) Not go! But it cannot be otherwise, 
she DUist not be left behind. 

Jean. Do not let me be forced to blush for my son. 
This is no time for weakness — you have left behind you for- 
ever the dreams of boyhood. 

Hen. But I tell you, madam, she must go. I stir not 
one step until she appears. 

Jean. I renounce chis journey at once and forever, unless 
ycm promise to set out this instant and not to retui-n until 
you conduct your bride hither. 

Hen. Mother, why this cloud upon my sunshine. Oh> 
let Louise attend us. 



30 THB CRIMSON tlVKRT. 

Jean. Nay, remember— greatness — power — the ciown 
of France. 

Hen. ( starting) On to Paris. 

Courtiers. To Paris, toPari.s! [ they prepare to marah] 

Etienne, ( among- the peasants) Let me pass, let me pass. 
I must speak with her — must warn her. Let me pass, dare 
not to keep me back. 

Jean. What means this tumult, who spoke thus? 

OoL. Some crazy peasant, who has found entrance aud 
declares that he must speak with your liighnes.s. 

Jean. What would he with me. 

Col. Nay, please your majesty, it would bo idle to heed 
him. The poor wretch is evidently distraught. 

Jean. I will speak with him, never-the-less. 

Sen. Go on, your majesty, I beseech you. See how the 
people stare. 

Jean. Bid some one bring that man hither. 
Etiknne CO tties front, C. 

CoL. Beware, madam, do not permit him to approach 
your majesty. 

Jean. Shame, sir. Nay, Henry, I will speak with him. 
Will you not back, f to aourtiers, who have drawn, their swords ] 
uuist I commad you all. Nay, then, the queen of Navarre 
will always speak with her subjects when they wish it. 

Hen. Fall back, my friends, the queen desires it. 

Jean. Come hither old man. What would you with 
your queen. 

Etien. I would warn her of the destruction which awaits 
tier people. Go not to Paris — remain in your own kingdom 
and seek among i;s daughters a wife for your son. I tell 
you if he attains the promised bride and throne, he must 
wade through seas of blood and scatter the pages of his 
history with dead men. 



h 



41 THB CRIMSON MVERT. 

Jean. Oh, what terrible warning is this ! 
Hen. What mummery is this. Off, dotard. 
Etien. Aye, mock at me, young prince, but be warned 
in time. I tell you, as before, that if you wed with Margur- 
ette of Prance he mai-riage liveries will be crimson, crimson. 
CoL. Silence. Ho, there, take away this maniac. Madam 
do not let the ravings of a poor, crazed brain like this alarm 
you. 

Hen. Mother, Louise— 

Jean. Silence. A king's promise is sacred. Forward to 
the bride who awaits you. 

Hen. (passionately) This shall not be. I will see her 
once more — we cannot pai't thus. 

Jean. You have parted already ; think of the future. 
Etien. I i-epeat to you, the marriage liveries shall be 
crimson — dyed in the blood of your noblest subjects. [ they 
drag- him baok] Be warned, be warned. 

Hen. Come, mother, I conjure you, do not let those idle 
words terrify you thus. 

Jean. I am ready. Heni-y farewell. Some fearful doom 
hangs over us ; I only ask Heaven to permit me to behold 
I ay son's face once again. 

Hen. Mother, I must see Louise. 
Jean. Henry, it must not be. 
Hen. For a moment mother, only one. 
Jean. For shame, Prince of Navarre. I am a woman, 
tortured by fears and terrible forebodings, but I am not 
weak. The very girl who has loved you would despise 
wavering like this. 

Hen. But, my queen, I love her. 

Jean. Enough. We have accepted our destiny, meet it 
with grmness. 

Hen. Only a moment. 



k 



23 THE CKIM80N LIVEKY. 

Jean. No more. Now on to France. 

Hen. Then be it so. Forward to Fraur-e. 

(ExitR, with OourtieiK.i 

Jean. My child, my child, I have seen him for the last time 

( Exit L, iritfi sifftc I 

People. Long hve the queen. 

Enter Louise, 11. 

Lou. He is gone. Farewell, Henry. Oh, my poor lu\-irt 
throb not thus wildly. The one bright dream of mf life i.'^ 
over, henceforth all is dark, dark. See how nobly he strides 
his horse, how proudly he carries bin regal head, that heail 
that so oft hath been pillowed on my bosom. He mounts 
the hill, he stops and waves his plumed hat, and n(jw lie is 
lost to view. ( weeps) 

Etien. ( at hack) Where is the sweet huly of Viileiuoiit. 
Let me hear her voice once more. 

Lou. I am here, my poor, old Etienne, what vrould \on. 

Etien. My poor lamb, my poor lamb I Heaven be 
praised that you have come to close the old man's eyc^s. 

Lou. My poor Etienne. 

Etien. Lady of Villemont it is over. 1 have iulMlkd ui_\ 
destiny in vain ; they have gone— gone — gone — gone- t') 
ruin, to dishonor. 

Lou. Can I save him— my prince. Oh, I beseech yoa 
tell me, can I save him ! 

Etien. You can warn him. Follow him to Paris. 

Lou. I will follow him to the ends of the world to save 
him. 

Etien. But you must not think to wed with the prince of 
Navarre. No, no. Will you carry a message to him from 
me. 

Lou. I will. Haste me to know it. 

Etien. Go to him and bid him not wed with Margurette 
of France. Tell him that if he mates with those Medici, he 
will bring ruin and bloodshed upon his subjecos. Blood ! 



23 THE CKIMSON LIVERY. 

Blood ! Everywhere blood. It rolls along in their path ; 
it follows them swiftly with its crimson tide. Save him — 
she is lost — but save — save — save — [ dies] 

Lou. O'er this lifeless body I swear to keep my promise. 
I have fulfilled my destiny all in vain, Gone, gone, gone. 

( sinJcs on Etienne's lody. ) 

Scene II. Chamber of Margiwette of Valois. 
Door with curtains, at hack, C. 

Fmter Margurette, R, with look. 

Mar. It is past the hour and yet he comes not. Ah, 
Gaston, you do not know how anxiouslj'^ Margurette watcli- 
es for thee. A stolen interview, too. Can it never be tliat 
I shall boldly acknowledge my love for the Chevalier De 
Mornay. Catherine, I feel, suspects us, and if once her 
suspicions are confirmed, I tremble for Gaston's safety 
Mother though she is, I feel none of those affections which 
should bind a daughter to her mother. But, bold as she is, 
she cannot tame my spirit. I am the only being who can 
brave her power. My brother. Charles is like a puppet in 
her hands, she moulds him to her will at plea-jure. Hark, a 
step. ( a knock) Enter. 

Enter Page, L. 

Page. The Count De Mornay. 

Enter De Mornay, L. 

De M. [ howing] I crave your highness' pardon, but 1 
am sent by his majesty to give you a private message. 
Margurette m(?i^o?is Page to retire. Exit Page, L. 

Marg. Gaston. ( attempts to clasp him in, her arms) 

De M. Excuse me, lady ; while the queen of Navarre is 
within a few hours ride of Paris, you will perhaps wish to 
moderate the cordiality of this meeting. 

Marg. What mean you, Gaston 

De M. Is it Margurette de Valois, or the wife of Prince 



24 THK CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Henry, who invites me to an interview ? 

Marg. You wrong me, (iraston. I have done everything 
to prevent this marriage, but in vain. 
Gast. Your mother — 
Marg. She is determined. 
Gast. But (Jharles — 

Marg. Alas, he is but the slave of her despotic will. 
I cn'811 wrote to a dignitary of the church of Rome, whom I 
once befriended, but he was powerless to oppose the wiles 
of that terrible Cardinal of Lorraine. 

Gast. You have sworn never to become the wife of 
Henry of Navarre. You have vowed even death would be 
preferable to a throne with that man by your side. 

Marg. And I am ready to renew my oath. Gaston, I 
swear that I will never become his wife. They may drag 
nie to the altar, but I will remain silent, nor deem binding 
any rites there performed. 

Gast. I^eine, Jdargurette. [alasps he in his arms.) Speak 
those words agiiin, ujy own, my beautiful. Tell me that you 
are vuine ; that Catherine herself has no power to tear you 
from me. 

Marg. 1 have sworn, Gaston, and I will keep my oath. 
My mother's will may be paramount in this kingdom, but 
she shall yet find in her daughter the same unweildmg 
spirit which with all her power, she is too weak to subdue 
when once aroused. 

Gast. Brave Margurette. Dojyou know I heard it 
whispered in the court to-day, that you loved this Henry of 
Navarre. 

Marg. Nay, dear Gaston, they little know Margurette of 
Valois, who beleive she gives her faith lightly. I love you, 
(raston, and you only. They cannot force me to give you 
up. I will be faithful. 



35 THB CRIMSON LIYBRT. 

Gas'j'. Do not trifle with me again as you did to-night. 
Do not, when I am near, smile on the gallants who hoTer 
about you. 

Marg. Gaston, you are too exacting. 

Gast. Not so. Those heavenly glances are the only 
aunbeams that can touch my heart. It grieves me to see 
you waste them on beings incapable of appreciating their 
worth. 

Maug. I must, Gaston. The queen watches me narrow- 
ly, and I dare not betray a preference for any, least of all 
for you whom I love. 

(xAST. But your mother does not suspect. 

Marg. I know not. Sometimes I think she looks at you 
as though she meant you harm. Her suspicions, once 
Mronsed, would never be appeased, and you know full well 
tliat the Medeci are dangerous enemies. 

Gast. You tremble, Margurette. Do you indeed, fear 
luT SO mu(rh? 

Marg. I fear nothing but that you may be forced to quit 
the court, or that something even more terrible may seper- 
ate us. 

Gatt. Nay, dearest, be not so despondent. 

Marg. Oh, Gaston, for my sake, beware. I tell you I 
could not live without you. If they force you from me, 
they tear my very heart from its resting place, for I have no 
happiness, no life, but in your love. 

Gast. My own sweet Margurette. [presses hsr to his breast] 

Marg. We must part now\ It is very late — you must 
remain here no longer. 

Gast. Do not force me to go yet, loveliest. Heaven 
knows when we may meet again. 

Marg. Tomorrow, deai*est Gaston. 

(tast. Tomorrow the queen of Navarre will arrive, and 



/■ 



THE CRIMSON MVERY. 



in a few days her son will come to claim you. Do not re- 
fuse me the last moments of bliss that may be mine for 
months, perhaps forever. 

Marg. Do you think his coming, or that of his mother, 
could have any effect upon my movements ? 

Gast. Nay, I have no fear of your love, but we will not 
have the opportunity. 

Marg. I promise you a meeting the very night the 
awkward Bearnais arrives at court. 

Gast. Not a legion of fiends could keep me fi'om your 
side. 

Marg. You are worthy to be the lover of Margurette of 
Valois. What other man could have won this heart ? 

Gast. And shall it be always mine, even after this 
prince comes to woo thee V 

Marg. Rest satisfied, Gaston, it will always be your 
own — always — always. 

Gast. I believe you, dear, dear Margurette. Oh, how I 
sigh for the time to come when I can call you mine, mine 
before the world, and give Catherine De Medicis and her 
court the lie, that you love Henry of Navarre. 

Marg. ( starting-) Hist ! footsteps ! They approach this 
way. Save yourself, Gaston, there is someone coming. 
Go, go. If you are discovered here you only endanger me 
and ruin yourself. 

Gast. [ffoing'todoorinflat, L] It is too lato to fly. 

Marg. Quick, conceal yourself behind this curtain 

(Gaston goes behind curtain, R, Margurette standing in front) 

Gast. ( coming- out) There is no danger, Margurette. 
It was only the guard. 

Marg. But it is impossible for you to pass through this 
door — my mother's guards are spies upon me. It must be 
later than I thought. This way, this way — tread softly. 



87 THE CKIM80N LIVERY. 

( Takes key from her girdle and opens secret door, at hack. C.) 
Go, go. It is not safe to i-emain here. We must find a 
more secure place of meeting. You shall hear from me 'ere 
long — until then, adieu. 

Gast. Adieu, my own beautiful Margurette. {kisses and 

exit, Q.) 
Marg. I pray Heaven he may reach his chamber safely. 
Gaston, Gaston, my heart is wholly thine. ( Exit, J^) 

Scene II. A Gallery in the Palace. Door R, with curtains. 
Enter, L, Db Mornay. and walks across stage. As he reaches R, 
the curtains part/md Catherine stands before him. 

Gast. ( aside) Catherine, by all that's wonderful ! 

Cath. You walk late, Monsieur De Mornay. What do 
you here? 

Gast. 1 crave your majesty's pardon, but I was all at 
ease, and not being able to sleep, was walking up and down 
the back gallery. Fancying I heard a noise, I hastened 
here to discover what it meant. 

Cath. There is no sound but the rather loud breathing 
of our trusty sentinel. Still I thank you for your thought- 
fulness. Would that all who surround your queen were as 
faithful. 

Gast. Does she sneer at me? ( aside) Praise from your 
majesty is ever sweet, though the performance of a simple 
duty does not merit it. 

Cath. Nay, you are wrong ; one who is always conttant 
us you are in the perform ancce of mere duties, deserves the 
highest praise, aye, and reward too. The king looked un- 
well this evening, and anxiety prevented my sleeping until 
I had seen with my own eyes that he was better. 

Gast. Happy king, who has not only the love of his 
people, but the untiring devotion of a mother, to guard him 
from harm. 



38 THE CRIMSON LIVBRY. 

Cath. I would be not alone a queen, but the friend of 
my son, and those who prove faithful to him. 

Ga8t. Ah, madam, who would dare hope for the honor 
of calling the queen of France friend. 

Cath. Those who faithfully serve her as you have done 
to-night. I shall not soon forget your conduct, trifling as 
it may appear. Catherine knows no halt gratitude, or 
half feeUng of any kind. 

Gast. Madam, you confuse me with this goodness. 

( !ath. Nay, then we will talk of something else. But 
methinks our young master of horse has more timidity with 
ladies than when out of their presence, for though it is but 
a few weeks since he was appointed to a post so near our 
person, we have heard of several encounters he has had 
with sundry gallants of our court. 

Gast. I trust your highness has heard nothing to my 
I liscredit. 

Cath. Nay. nay, I spoke jestingly. Young blood is hot 
and will have its course. I have never heard a syllable con- 
cerning you which did not prove you one of the most loyal 
and knightly gentlemen of our court, aud were it otherwise, 
I should not believe those who strove to poison my ears 
against you. 

Gast. You make me sad. madam. 

Cath. riow so. What mean you, sir V 

Gast. To think how little I can do to Show my grati- 
tude for tuis sweet praise. 

Cath. \_ eagerly \ You can do much. 

Gast. What, madam, and how ? Only point out the 
way in which I can serve you, and I will do it, even to the 
shedding of my heart's blood. 

Cath. Calm yourself. I do not ask other service than 
that of a loyal subject — there is no one near me who has 
more to offer. 



89 THB CRIMSON LIVKUY. 

Gast. Say uot that madam. No one who has ever seen 
Catherine De Medicis, but would gladly give his life iu ner 
Ijehalf. 

Cath. 1 do not require so much, I do not iisk so much. 
I have a bo(>n to demand of some trusty heart, could 1 find 
one, but where turn ? The queen of France must ever be 
alone. 

Gast. Because there is no one who dare offer sympathy, 
uiadanj. But can the queen of France have a wish ungrant- 
ed, a boon to ask V 

Cath. Aye, it was that I said. You are astonished — 
you do not know mo. You say that no one dares offer 
sympathy to a queen — I tell you, sir, that were it offered, 
Catherine De Medicis would not reject it. You ask what 
boon 1 crave — friendship ! In all the wide world I have no 
friend. Nay, it is true, do not seek to contradict me. I am 
the mother of a powerful monarch, the widow of an august 
king, but what benefit is that to me ? I am weary of courts ; 
yes, 1 pray mo a friend, true, devoted. 

Gast. Maduni, I had not thought such feelings could 
find a resting place in your breast. I believed you as hap- 
py as you are powerful. 

Cath. Happy ! ! But no matter. Mine is a woman's 
heart and craves that which all women seek — sympathy and 
kindness — nay, love, perhaps, for it pines amid all these 
trappings and is torn with its interposition between strug- 
gling factions. They think me harsh ambitious of power, 
greedy Nfor applause. Oh, little do they know how I long 
for a true fi'ieud. 

Gast. I am sure, madam, every noble of the realm is a 
friend to you, and to your beautiful daughter. 

Cath. She who will soon be queen of Navarre is worthy 
of this warm admiration. But in her wild love for Prince 



/. 



30 THR CRIMSON LIVRRT. 

Henry, which even state policy aud the entreaties of her 
family could not control, she has little time for affection to 
bestow elsewhere, hence the loneliness we complained of 
just now. Let me detain you no longer. Good night, 
sir. [ Exit, L] 

Gast. The proud tiend ! Margurette is forced to this 
marriage. The Medicis cannot endure even to hear her 
admired. What would she say did she know all. In truth 
her manner to-night was strange ; could she mean — bah ! I 
will not be vain enough to think that. Because a princess 
loves me, it is no reason lo believe that her whole family 
must share in the affection. ( Exit, R) 

ScENK IV. Cottage of Thekesk. 

Door at back, L, window, R. 

Thkhk^e discovered preparing supper. A knock heard. 

Thek. Who is there ? 

Louise. [Entering- at door] It is I — Louise. 

Ther. Ah, my dear madamoiselle, I am so glad that you 
have come back. I began to fear tluit something had hap- 
pened, you staid so long. 

Lou. Nothing, nothing. Have you seen Robert ? 

Thek. Yes, madamoiselle, and happy enough he was at 
luy unexpected arrival. He could not bear to leave the 
house without seeing you, but he was on guard for an hour 
and had to go. He ought to be back soon. 

Lou. Did you tell him, Therese, that I was going to stay 
with you. 

Thek. Yes, madamoiselle, and very sad he was to hear 
that you had left the good queen. 

Lou. I could not endui-e all the gayeties of the court, 
and you know well that, except the queen, I had no friend 
but you in the wide world. Besides, I would not go far 
away, as my dear mistress may have need of me. 



31 THE CKIM80N LITERT. 

Ther. My heart's darling! and you look so pale. Could 
you sleep. 

Lou. Nt)t now. Let me see Robert first ; he may have 
some news for me. 

Ther. You have slept so Uttle during all our long jour- 
ney, poor mistress. Hark ! there is Robert's step on the 
.stairs. How happy he will be. Robert ! Robert ! she haet 
come back, she has come back. 

Enter Robert, door. L. 
LoD. Won't you speak to me, Roberi ; dont you know me. 
RoBT. [taJdnerherhcunA] Know you, madamoiselle, know 
voa ? Aye, auu)ng a thousand. 

Lou. Come now, sit down and talk to me. I have hard- 
iy heard the sound of your voice. ( th'iy sit, G ) 

RoBT. liideed, madamoi.sello, my heart was talking all 
the while. This is a blessed day. Only look at my 
old fool of a wife, crying like a great baby. Upon 
my word. I believe I am about as bad myself. ( uiipe:> 
Ms eyes) Ah, you are the same good darling you was 
years ago, when I served under your father, in his old castle 
in Guienne. 

Lou. Ah, those were happy days. 

RoBT. And the queen of Navari-e is here. She comes for 
her son's marriage ; it is to take place soon. 
Lou. [faintly] Very soon, very soon. 
RoBT. He was a son to be proud of, the boldest madcap 
that ever roved among the mountains of his kingdom. I 
remember Jeanne of Navarre, too — Heaven preserve her — 
the noblest woman that ever sat on a throne. Tell me, 
madamoiselle, does the young prince love Margurette de 
Valois ? 

Lou. [ sta'tin^] At least he is anxious for the marriage. 
RoBT. May he never repent it. Where does the queen 
lodge. 



33 THE CUIM80N LtVRRY. 

Lou. With the Bishop of Chartes, her friend, and a man 
suspected of favoring the Hugeuots. 

RoBT. She has, this morning, a private audience with 
the King and Catherine. To-night is to be a grand festival 
at the pahxce. I wish — I wish — 

Lou. Wish what, Robert? 

RoBT. That I might speak with the queen of Navarre. 

Ther. What d(jes the man mean ; what can you have tt> 
say to the queen of Navarre '? 

RoBT. Never mind, wife, I keep my own counsel. Mad- 
amoiselle, can ycm give me speech wi'i^h her. 

Lou. Yes, Robert, but I had not intended to inform her 
of my arrival here. To-day, I fear it would be impossible, 
she is so much occupied, but at all common times she is 
oasy of access to all. 

Ther. Aye, the saints bless her ! I never sleep without 
a pi'ayer for tho^ood queen, that she and her son may V^e- 
(^onie true Catholics. 

RoBT. Hush, wife, what have you to do with the religion 
of great people — say your prayers in your own way, and 
leave them alone. There is little enough of prayer at Cath- 
erine's court. 

Lou. But what would you with the queen, Robert ? 

RoBT. Nothing, nothing, madamoiselle, but if you would 
give me speech with her this vei'y night, you would do her 
some service. 

Lou. But how, Robert ? I am not going to this festival. 

RoBT. Listen, madamoiselle ; I am on guard to-night, in 
the palace and can introduce you unnoticed. Under your 
mantle wear a dress in which you can appear in the ball- 
looua, and when I see a fitting moment enter, find the 
queen and tell her my message. 

Lou. But can I not write to her, Robert ? 



33 THE CHIMSON I.IVERT. 

RoBT. No no, she will have no need of you at that time. 

Lou. It will be difficult for me to enter the dancing hall, 
Robert, and the queen will be so surrounded. 

RoBT. T know, madamoiselle, but I tell you that every- 
thing depends upon it. Do as I direct, as you value the 
happiness of our noble young prince. 

Lou. Henry ! ! You, too, give this warning. Robert, 
oh, tell me what it means. 

RoBT. I have no right, madamoiselle ; only to the queen 
of Navarre can I speak. 

Lou. Tell me, is his safety — his lite- — 

RoBT. They run no risk, but his whole future depends 
upon our success to-night. I know the blood that runs in 
your veins, madamoiselle ; you will not falter. 

Lou. Never ! God will aid me. 

RoBT. Now then, you must have rest. I, too, need sleep, 
for 1 must bo waking till the dawn. 

Ijou. Oh, Father in Heaven, give me strength. 
TABLEAU. 
END OF ACT II. 

ACT III. 

ScKNE I "^tnte Chamber of the Louvre. Fete of Charles IX. 

A rcto of pillarx extend buck, on both sides of the stage. Chandeliers 
lit. At rising of the curtain. Quests promenading. Dance at back. 
Enter LnvifiE. R I. R. Conceals herself behind a pillar. 

Enter Jeanne, L. U. E., and comes front slotcly. At end of 
ifitiice, she stands by pillar where Louise is concealed. 

Lou. ( aoming' out) Not a word, not a word, madam. 

Jean. Louise ! Great Heaven ! how came you here ? 

Luu. There is no time for explanation, madam ; I am 
sent to warn you. Follow me, for your son's sake. 

Jean. Explain this, Louise. 



i 



S4 THE CUmSON MVKBT. 

Lou. I cannot. I only know that below waitw a niau 
who has tidings of grt^at importance for you. 

Jean. Who is he? How came he here? 

Lou. What matters it ? Oh, madam, thi.s is uo time for 
questions or doubts. 

Jean. But how can I know but that it is some plot. 

Lou. I will vouch with mj life for thLs man's honesty, 
For your son's sake — 

Jean. Enough ! let us go. 

[ Exeunt, R. 1. E] 

ScENK II. A Galleiy in the Palace. 
Enter Louise wnd Jeanne, L 
Lou. Robert ! 

Enter Robert, R 
This is the man, my queen. 
Jean. You sent for me and I came at once, believing 
tbat you must have something of importance to say to m«. 
RoBT. I have, 3'our majesty. 
Jean. Speak, what would you ? 

RoBT. One moment, please your grace. Step into th« 
shadow, I pray you, some one approaches, 

[ They retire, LJ 
Enter Margukette, L. muffled, and exit R. 
RoBT. Your highness can come forth, there is nothing 
now to fear. 

Jean. Tell me instantly what this means. Who was 
that woman — where did she go? 

RoBT. Will your majesty follow me ? 
Jean. I will. You are an honest man. I know that 
you would never become the instrument in any plot which 
might be formed against me. 

RoBT. Your grace is as safe under my escort as in your 
own palace. 



I 



S5 THE CHIMSON LIVKRT. 

Jean. Then tell me what this means. Hasten, for this 
suspense is hard to bear. 

[ Exit Louise, R. J 
RoiiT. I know that your majesty will pardon me. I have 
:i strange thing to reveal, but your own eyes can bear wit- 
ness to the truth. 

J KAN. Speak, speak ! The queen of Navarre is grateful 
to those who serve her. Tell me, what is this. 

RoBT. Did you recognise the lady who passed into the 
garden a moment since. 

Jean. No. no. Who was it? Not the queen— not 
(Catherine de Medicis ! 

RoBT. It was her daughter, the princess Margurette. 
Jean. Wliat does she liere V 
RoBT. She goes to meet her lover. 
Jea>" [ rtartn£r] What do you mean. 
RoBT. In a bower, at the father end of the garden sits 
the princess, and by her side sits a gallant of her mother's 
court. 

Jean. Impossible. You are deceived, tellow. 
RoBT. You shall see, your majesty. 

Jean. Margurette de Valois alone, at this hour, with any 
man ! She, the betrothed bride of Henry of Navarre ! 
RoBT. It is true, your majesty. 

Jean. I will not \m\ie\e it. Even Catherine's daughter 
could not be so base. I repeat to you, it cannot be. 
RcBT. Follow me, your highness shall be convinced. 
Jean. It is some lady of the court, not the princess 
Marguretie. 

RoBT. It is she, madame, and thrice within a week, at 
this hour, she has stolen hither, and the same person has 
l)een her companion. 

Jean. Great Heaven! My sou, my son! Who is this 
man ? 



S6 THB CRIMSON LITBRT. 

RoBT. Some gallant of the court. 

Jean. Tell me his name. Such audacity shall not go 
unpunished. 

RoBT. Nay, madame, I do not know it. It was not my 
duty to spy the movements of the royal maiden oi' seek to 
discover her secret. But when I found that she was to wed 
your son, the son of the noble lady to whom my youu^ 
mistress owes all, T could be silent no longer. 

Jean. You have done well, you have done well. Accept 
my thanks. 

RoBT. Nay. your majesty, I need no thanks. 

Jean. You say that thrice within a week she has met 
this man. 

RoBT. Thrice, your majesty. 

Jean. And does Catherine think to hide her daughter's 
ahame by this marriage with my sou ! But I must see with 
my own eyes. 

RoBT. It your majesty will follow me, 

Jean. Lead on. I must see this infamy. 

[ Sxeunt, R. j 

Scene 111. A Garden. Bower, R. 
Margurette and 'jAston seated in iower. 
Enter Robert and Jeanne, R. 1. E. 
RoBT. [ in whisper j Go on, madam, I await you here. It 
is not for one like me to listen to the secret of queen Cath- 
erine's daughter. ( Exit, R. ) 
Jeanne goes behind bower and listens. 
Maro. I tell you, Gaston, that I hate him. I would 
rather share a peasant's cot with you than wear a crown 
placed on my head by his hand. Repeat to me that you 
love me, and that you are ready to give life itself iu return 
for this idolatrous affection. 



S7 THK C11IM80N LIVEKT. 

Gast. My own brave Margurette, you speak but iha 
truth, when you nay tiiat life itself would I gladly give for 
your iove. 

Maro. I nearly betrayed myself to-night, but I could 
not help it. Had you led that ineek-faced girl to the dance 
I should have killed her where she stood. No man shall 
trifle with the love of Margurette de Valois. 

Gast. You are unjust, Margurette. 

Marg. Nay, nay, dear Gaston. 

Gast. You claim all and grant so little. I am forced to 
stand aside and see (ither men engross the attention of hei' 
who professes to love me, without even the right to speak. 
You are unjust. 

Marg. I am, 1 am, forgive me, Gaston. But I cannot 
bear to see you bestow a single glance upon another. It 
goes to my heart like a dagger. Do not blame me, you 
knoxv that I lo^e you. 

Gast. My beautiful, my own. 

Mabg. I liave no hope in life that has not been flung at 
your feet, no feeling that does not vibrate to your slightest 
smile. Do you not believe this '? 

Gast. 1 do and before high Heaven I swear that heart 
and soxil, I am wholly yours. 

Marg. Oh, Gaston, would that this marriage could not 
take place. 

(tast It must not, it shall not, 

Marg. But how prevent it ? 

Gast. I know not, A thousand plans flash across my 
my mind. It maddens me when I think of it. If there is 
no other way, this trusty sword — 

Marg. Nay, Gaston, do not be rash. 

Gast. But the thought that unless something be done, 
and that speedily, you will be lost to me forever, fires my brain 

Marg. They cannot force nie to wed him . 



4f' 



58 THK CltlMSON MVERT. 

Gast. Have you forgotten the promise you made me, 
the night of Kenry'H arrival you would grant me a meeting 
in your chamber ? 

Marg. I have not forgotten it, and I will keep uiy oath. 
Jeanne starts at her words. 
Hark, there is some one near. 

Gast. It was only the wind among the leaves, do not be 
frightened. 

Makg. We must return, I shall be missed. 

Gast. And we shall meet again ? 

Makg. The night of Henry's arrival, in my chamber. 

(jAST. I will be there ! 

Marg. Be careful, Gaston, for . y mother's spies are 
even about ihe palace, seeking to discover the goings and 
comings of the nobles, 

Gast. 1 will be discreet, dearest Margurette. 

Marg. Adieu dear Gaston. 

Gast. Adieu, .sweet Margurette. Remember your 
promise. [Exit, R. ) 

Marg. I will, and keep it, too. Adieu. [ J5?xit, L.] 

Jean. ( coming' out) My son, my son, from what a fate I 
havfci preserved thee. A meeting in her chamber, and she 
a bethrothed bride ! ! But it shall never be that she shall 
become Henry's wife. That day will never dawn that sees 
Margurette de Valois on the throne of Navarre. Robert. 
Enter Robert, R. 

RcBT. You are satisfied, madame. 

Jean. I am, I am. 

RoBT. And you believe now, that I sought to serve yon. 

Jean. ( wringing his hand) You have saved my son ; you 
have preserved me from shame and earned not only a sov- 
ereign's thanks, but a parent's gratitude. 

RoBT. Your majesty overpowers me. I have done what 
I beheved my duty. 



^ 



39 THB CRIMBOK LITBRT. 

Jean. Come to lue to-morrow — remember, to-morrow. 
Send Louise to me. [ Exit Robert, R.] 

BJnter LovisK. R 

Lou. Thank Heaven, your majesty has returned. But 
you are pale — oh, madam, what has happened V 

Jean. Come, Louise, come. There is not a moment to 
lose, follow me. 

Lou. Whither, madam, whither ? 

Jean. To the queen, girl, to the queen. I must see 
Catherine at once. Question me not. 

Lou. Oh, my queen, what great grief has come upon 
you to give you that fearful look. 

Jean. I have not time to waste. It is no time for words, 
enough has been wasted on this subject, the moment to act 
has arrived. {(Page crosses^ L toR. j What ho, there. 
Seek Catherine De Medicis and say that the queen of 
Navarre wishes vo speak with her at once. {Exit (Page, R. j 
Now you can wait for me in the ante-room. For your life 
stir not till I bid you. Come. ( Ex- unt, R. ) 

Scene IV. A Chamber in the Palace. 
Enter Jeanne L, Catherine, R. 

Jean. You have come, madam. 

Cath. I trust you are not ill, fair cousin. Was it the 
heat that overpowered you. 

Jean. A truce to idle compliments, this is no time for 
them. [ Catherine examines door J You do well to make all 
things secure. I have that to say, which I ween the queen- 
dowager of France may well choose to have kept a secret. 

Cath. What mean you ? 

Jean. I understand now why you and the king hurried 
forward this marriage. To preserve the honor of your 
house, you would degrade niy son — force him to a union 



/ 



40 

THE OUIMSON MTERT. 



With one who has forgotten her royal birth and maiden 
honor. The plot was well arranged. These fetes and 
shows were to cover the shame which would darken your 
daughter s marriage robes. 

Cath. Beware!! You are m the palace of the kmg of 
France, and it is to Catherine de Medicis you speak. Ex- 
plum at once the meaning of this insult, but choose your 
words with more caution. 

Jean. Your threats cannot turn me from my purpose. 
I remember where I am, and m whose presence I stand. 
Bad, wicked, and all-powerful as you are, you caimot harm 
me. i, too, wear a crown, but its jewels have never garland- 
ed womanly shame, and iu my bosom beats a heart that in 
Its sxmple integrity, is proof against your machinations. 

^ATH. ^\ Oman, were we to live a thousand years, I would 
never forgive this m.olence. How have you dared- 

Ji^Ax. Dared ! ! Wkh right on her side, there is nothing 
whac], could make Jeanne D'Albret fear. You profess such 
mdignat.on at my words, then what ought I to feel ? I tell 
you, madam that you and your son have been guilty of an 
act which should -nake even your Italian blool burn with 
shame; you have sought to hide your own disgrace by 
orcmg It upon my family. You would have placed a faith- 
less wife m the arms of my son and set the crown of 
Navarre upon her brow. Bui a mother's eyes are vigUant, 
aU your wiles are too feeble to blind her intuition 

^^^'ru I seizing- her arm] xMadam, are you mad! Are 
you whoUy insane, to address me thus V 

Jean, [flin^rusr her ojf.j Not an hour since my own eyes 
Haw the pnncess Margurette seated beside her lover, lavish- 
ing upon him words of endearment that would have shamed 
he vilest creature in your realm. What say those false 
-'ips now ? 

Cath. You have lied ! ! I 



I 



41 TH> CRIMBOK LITBRT. 

Jean. You dare not repeat those words. Another insult, 
a single threat, and in the presence of your whole court 
will I disclose your daughter's degradation. Kad you been 
a woman, I would have pitied you and saved her. But iu 
your bosom there does not exist one feminine impulse — 
you have no likeness to your sex, but in form. I was per- 
suaded against my will to come hither — I knew that no 
good could result from a union with the blood of a Medici — 
I felt that some treachery was hidden beneath your 
specious llattery — but had not stooped to dream of any- 
thing 80 vile as this. 

Cath. There is some strange mistake here. I have been 
too violent, cousin. You ar© deceived. It could not have 
been Margurette that you saw. Some lady of the court — 
there are several who resemble her. 

Jean. Do not add falsehood to your treachery, it would 
be in vain. I tell you that I myself saw her in the arbor at 
the end of the garden, and by her side a gallant of your 
palace. You know that I have spoken the truth. 

Cath. By all the saints, I did not. I give you my word 
as a mother and a queen that I was ignorant of this thing. 

Jean. Spare your protestations. I have not forgotten 
the past and I know the value of your word. You have 
employed your influence as a mother, only to foster the 
evil instincts that were born in your children, used your 
power as a queen, only to render yourself an object of 
hatred to all coming ages. The gifts which Heaven bestow- 
ed upon you, and which you have turned to such terrible 
purpose, will but darken the place you hold in history. 

Cath. If you will but be calm, my cousin, I am certain 
that this mystery can be explained in a manner which can 
satisly us all. If it was indeed Margurette whom you saw 
in the garden, 1 doubt not that we shall find it was only an 
an impulse of girlish coquetry which led her there. Surely 
there would be nothing so blameable in that. 



/ 



42 THK CniMSON LIVERT. 

Jean. Yoiix* daughter is the betrothed- bride of my son — 
under such circumstances a meeting with another could not 
be innocent. 

Cath. Nay, nay, we should not be too hard upon the 
follies of youth. You know what it is to be eighteen. 

Jean. I thank Heaven that at eighteen I was indeed 
young— pure in heart and soul. Alas, that at this court 
there be many \vh() are youthful only in name. You can- 
not be ignorant that already strange reports have gone 
abroad concerning your daughter, and that bad men take 
the name of the princess Margurette jestingly on their lips. 

Cath. [haug-ktily] In all this kingdom there does not 
breathe a man so bold! Catherine de Medici's power has 
not yet grown so weak that she is unable to protect her 
daughter's name from insult. 

Jean. Ah, madam, had you reared your child aright 
there had been no need of threats like these. For aught 
that may happen you have only yourself to blame — ihe sin 
and disgrace will recoil npon you. 

Cath. I have been many years a queen, but I never be- 
fore beheld the man or woman who dared address me thus 
—believe me you shall repent it. 

Jean. Threats again ! But they are powei'less. I leave 
your court to-morrow, and I tell you now, never shall Mar- 
gurette de Valois sit upon the throne which has hitherto 
been the heritage only of brave men and virtuous women. 

Cath. You are hasty. Reflect a moment upon all that 
you have at stake — how wholly your son's future interests 
depend upon this aUiance, and you will not in an instant of 
passion sacrifice the good of your kingdom to an idle 
scruple. 

Jean. Better that my kingdom pass away forever than be 
the cause of our disgrace. 

Cath. You employ harsh words, dear lady. No disgrace 



/ 



43 THK CniMSON LIVERY. 

can attoch itself to you oi; iiny. Even had Margurette been 
guilty of some girlish indiscretion, who could know it V 
The secret rests between us, and we should soon lose all 
trace of it. You are angered without cause. Be guided, 
dear cousin, believe me you will not repent it. You know 
how deeply I have rleury's welfare at heart ; I have ever 
loved him as my own sou, and looked anxiously for- 
ward to this marriage as a tie which should bind him more 
closely to me. I beseech you let all things go on as before ; 
Henry will soon arrive, and when she sees him, Margurette 
will forget ihis passing caprice, in the pleasure of her new 
new royalty. 

Jean. Have you done ? Are you a woman, and propose 
tliis disgraceful compact? I realize now more fully than 
ever, how destitute you are of all human feelings. I will 
waste no more words here. I repeat that the preparations 
for this marriage go no furthsr. To-morrow I shall an- 
nounce to your sou that I refuse his overtures, and I will 
seek elsewhere a wife for the- prince of Bearne. 

Cath. This shall not be ! Do you think to trifle with 
the king of France ? Oh, madam you are in the falcon's 
talons, beware his beak ! ! This marriage shall go on — my 
daughter shall till the throne of Navarre. 

Jean. Never! I would wed my child to the humblest 
peasant girl of my realm, rather than see Margruette de 
Valois his wife. 

Cath. [fieroely) You know not with whom you try 
your strength. Foolish woman ! it were safer to goad an 
angry lion than provoke me thus. Cathei'ine de Medicis 
has has even stooped to you, poor, weak, blind fool, and 
she will never forgive the indignity forced upon her. 
Leave our court, return to your barren mountains — but 1 
warn you that their most secret would afford no security 
from Catherine's vengeance. Look for foes from without 



/ 



44 THE CEIMSOlf LTVERT. 

and dissensions within. In a twelvemonth there shall not 
exist in al) France a siugle Hugenot. Go ! Go, if you dare. 
Leave me at once — proclaim aloud the base slander you 
have invented, then suffer. the consequences of your own act. 

Jean. I do not heed your threats. I go from here to 
Charles. ( turns, R.) 

C.\TH. [ seizi g her arm] Will you go ? Dare you go ? 
I swear to you, that if you leave this chamber without re- 
tracting that slander, your whole nation shall perish, and 
your son's head adorn a pike-staff in the court-yard below. 

Jean. Release me ! Do not dare to lay your hand upon 
one of your own sex who deserves the name, 

Cath. You will go ! You wilf go ! Ha ! ha ! you little 
think — 

Jean. Aye, I WILL go. All your power is not suf- 
ticieut to detain me another instant within these accursed 
walls 

Cath. ( drjiwing-- close) Within three days you shall re- 
ceive tidings of__your sous death, and 'ere another month 
passes yoa sliuil be noL only childless, but without kingdom 
()!• friends — a poor wanderer, without a shelter under that 
Heaven to which you pray, but which will not heed you. 

Jean. My son, my, son. [faints on Catherine's shoulder, 
who rud ly pushes her away ; she falls, C ) 

Louise, {rushngin, L) My mistress is dead, she Ib 
dead. Help ! helj) ! 

Cath. She has fainted, raise her in your arms, silly fool, 
while I call assistance. [ aside) Would that it were indeed 
death, I should be saved a vast deal'of trouble, (pulls bell) 

Enter Page. L. 
Seek the king, say that the queen of Navarre has been sud- 
denly taken ill, and call some one to our assistance. 
— Exit <Pag3, L — Here comes the leeeh and one of my 
women. Let the queen be carried to a chamber near my 



{/ 



/ 



45 THE CRIMSON LTTERT. 

apartments — follow liei* madainoiselle — it is useless to alarm 
those in the Ijall-room. ( Exit, R) 

Attendents enter and bear off J E\'iiJ^E, L. 

Scene V. Catherine's Oaiinet. 
/filter Catherine, L. She 02)ens cabinet and takes out vial. 
Cath. Now, trusiy agent, do your errand speedily. You 
liave never failed ine, do not fail me now. Ah, Jeanne 
D'Albret, yonr hours are numbered now. You have braved 
Catherine's power as never mortal did before, and for that 
her death would compensate. But she is the possessor of 
a secret which will die with her, for her reason will never 
return after once swallowing this potion. Her speech will 
l)e consiaeied ravings. And yet I must beware of this 
( -oligny, for if he takes the meanings of her sayings he may 
inform Henry. He must be closely watched, while her 
lover must be disposed of. Then Henry comes and my 
daughter, in spite of your threats, my fair cousin, shall be 
queen of Navarre. Ha ! ha ! you little know the hate of a 
.Medicis. Now to her chamber. ( piaces vial in her bosom and 

~:xit L. ) 

ScE^■E VI. Chamber of Jeanne. 
.Jeanne, o/i couch, asleep. Louise xoatching over her. 
Lou. My poor, dear mistress, would that you had listen- 
(■d to the warning voice of old Etieune. 
Enter Catherine, L. 
Cath. How fares the queen ? 
Lou. She sleeps. 

Cath. Poor cousin, she is very ill. Heavens, how pale 
she looks. Quick, girl, call the doctor ; be quick. 

( Exit Louise, L.) 
(/'atherinr takes vial from bosom and fours in goblet. 



46 • THE CKIM80N LITBRT. 

Cath. Waken now, when you will, fair cousin, but say 
your prayers, for your hours are numbered. You have 
tried what it is to brave a Medicia. 

Jeanne wakes, and Catherine gives drink. 
Enter Louise and Doctok, L. 
8he sleeps again, but I was terrified by her face. Look at 
her, doctor — tell nie is she more ill than you thought. 
Enter Coligny, R. 
CoLiG. They told me my mistress was suddenly taken 
ill. Ah, uiy poor queen ! Is she dangerous ? 

Cath. Calm yourself good Admiral, she is ill, but the 
danger is not known. We must have perfect quiet. ( Jeanne 
revives) How fee)s my cousin, now ? 

Jean. Away, woman of blood, away. I do not heed your 
threats. 

Cath. Alas ! she raves. 

Jean. I tell you she shall never wear the crown of 
Navarre. I will instant]}- depart. 

Cath. Do you not know me, my queen ? 
Jean. Aye, I saw you in the garden with the princesB. 
1 overheard all. I will warn him. Henry ! Henry ! Why 
does he not come. You remember, I told you I should 
never see him again — 1 shall not. 
Lou. My poor mistress ! ! 

Cath. My dear, dear cousin. Oh, doctor, is there 
nothing that can be done for her V 

Jean. He said she was false. He told ma 'ere I quitted 
Navarre, that ruin would surely follow a union with the 
Medicis, and it will, it will. Oh, save him, do not let him 
rash to sure destruction. Drink, drink ! 
Lou. Here, madam, here. 
Jean. No, no, that is poisoned. She did it. 
Cath. My dear cousin, lie down and calm yourself. 
Alas ! she is beside herself. 



47 THE CKIMSON LIVERT. 

Lou. Do you not knew me ? 

Jean. Aye, it is Louise, my little Louise. I know all, 
you love him, but you must drive the thought from your 
heart. Come here. Softly, let no one hear. Tell him she 
is false. 

Oath. Come, girl, retire now, the queen needs rest. 

Jean. No, no, do not leave me, Louise, you are my only 
friend. I proclaim that Margurette is false. Hear all, 
that I, Jeanne D'Albret, pi-onounce her a perjured woman. 
Ha, ha ! They would thrust their disgrace on my house. 
You will tell him, Louise. Remember — save him — behold ! 
a tea of blood — blood, blood, everywhere blood. The liv- 
eries shall be crimson, ihe prophet said. Save — tell my 
son — ^tell him — save — Louise — [ dies] 

TABLEAU. 

bjnb of act in. 



ACT IV. 

Chamber of Margurette. ( same as Act II. Scene TI.) 
Maugurette discovered, C. ' seated. 
Marg. Will he keep his promise. Ah, little thought 
Heni-y, as he gaily conversed by my side, that my eyes 
were fixed on Gaston. And once, as I passed him in the 
crowded throng, I whispered in his ear, " remember." He 
smiled so sweetly — hark, a step — it is he — Gast — 

The curtains at Inch open and Catherine stands before Margur- 
ette 

My mother ! ! 

Cath. Still a watcher ? Did you not hear the clock 
strike, Margurette. It is very late. 

Marg. So late that I must marvel what urgent business 
can have procured me the honor of your majesty's visit. 



48 THE CRIMSON LITBRT. 

Cath. I marked you this evening/and thought you look. 
ed il] ; it was not strange that I was unable to sleep with- 
out having seen you. 

Marg. Many thanks, madam for your kindness, but it 
was unnecessary — I am not ill. 

Cath. Then why are you not at rest. You know that 
the king hunts to-morrow, and you will be summoned at 
early dawn. 

Marg. I was about retiring when your majesty came in. 
Let me (H)uducf your majesty l>ack to your chamber, and I 
will go to rest. 

Cath. Nay, nay. Let me see you seek your couch, that 
I may satisfy myself that you are indeed quite well, and 
then I will leave you. 

Marg. [ aside] There conxs my Gaston, I know his step. 
H<!avens ! how to warn him. ( loudly) Will you be seated. 
Cath. I will not intrude longer upon your privacy. 
Marg. Do not go yet, do not go ! 

Cath. You seem alarmed. This comes of wakefulness 
.it siK-h an hour. I warrant ine that your fancy has trans- 
fona ' 1 the slamming of some door into the tread of mailed 
iViet. Fie ! lie, child. I shame to see my daughter so timd. 
Marg. I heard no noise, your majesty was deceived. 
Cath. Doubtless, doubtless. But how like you your 
future husband, Henry of Navarre ? 

Marg. I have not had opportunities to judge, as yet. 
Cath. He is a gallant gentleman, as well as soldier. 
Marg. He is. 

Cath. Does not your heart tell you that he is its 
master ? 

Marg. I do indulge in such foolish fancies, madam. 
Cath. Ah, were I in your place, it would afford me 
great pleasure to have a wooer so gaUant. In all our court 
there is none so witty and courteous. 



(V, 



49 THR CKIM80H LITHRT. 

Marg. For shame, mother. We have scores of cavaliers 
full as witty aud courteous as Henry. 

Cath. I know not one. Name me but one. 
Marg. [ aside] Crafty as you are, you connot outwit 
your daughter. I cannot think just now of one in partic- 
ular, but there are many. 

Cath. I must differ with you on that point. But yon 
will change after the prince of Bearne becomes your hus- 
band. 

Marg. (aside) My husband ! Never! Perhaps, mad- 
am. ( aside) Those footsteps again ! 

Cath. Now I must leave you. Good night, belle Mar- 
gurette. 

Marg. ( starti-gup) Madam, one moment — 
Cath. Back ! ! Do you think to deceive me, girl ? I 
know all. Is it not a noble thing — -a princess of France 
awaiting a lover at this hour aud in this guise. 
Catherine fiings aside curtains at hack. 
Marg. xVre you satisfied^ madam ! 

Cath. We were deceived, so go to your rest, my child. 
Marg. I will conduct you to your chamber first. 
Cath. Nay, dear child, hie you to bed. Adieu. [ Ezit 

throLbffh curtains] 
Marg. Powers of mercy, what a risk he runs. I must 
seek him now. ( Exit L.) 

Cath. ( at secret door in fiat) It was iie, I was not deceiv- 
ed. Gast(m de Mornay slights the love of the queen of 
France for that doll-faced girl, hit; fate is sealed. Dream 
on, silly (ihildren, you have aroused a vengeance which 
shaU no rest until it be satisfied. ( Exit) 

Enter Margurette and (jaston, L. 
Marg. W(^ are safe here, now, dear Gaston. My mother 
has retired. 



50 THB CRIUSOIf LITBRT. 

Gast. And she at last has probed pur secret. 

Marg. Alas, I fear she has. When she heard your foot- 
steps she threw aside the curtains, but you had fled. 

Gast. And was she not satisfied that she had been deceiv- 
ed ? 

Marg. So she said. But I know her, Gaston ; beneath 
her smile she carries the dee})est treachery. I fear for you, 
my own dear one. 

Gast. She cannot harm me, 

Marg. You do not know her power. Were she resolved 
upon your death, then all earthly hope were over. 

Gast. She will not dare attempt my life. She may have 
me banished, but she knows that I am a friend of Charles, 
and he will not permit me to be harmed. 

Marg. She is hastening on this marriage, f^he will 
force me to wed with Kenry. 

Gast. Do not talk of that. As I saw him to-night seat- 
ed beside you, my heart was filled with thoughts of murder 
and my hand clasped my dagger with a firm hold. With 
one blow I could have freed you. But he is a courteous 
gentleman, and withal, has a good heart. 

Marg. Do not harm him, Gaston, it would only bring 
ruin on your head. Rest satisfied, there is no love on either 
side in this marriage. He is led solely by ambition. 

'Gast. Ah, my own beautiful Margurette, how can I re- 
sign thee ? 

Marg. Hush, Gaston, let us think of the present, the 
future is ever dark. We must part now. To-morrow at 
the fete ^ I will meet you. Good night. [ Exit R.] 

Gast. Good night, Margurette. ( Exit L. ) 

ScENK H. Chamber of Charles IX. 
Charles on couch, asleep, L. 
Enter Catherine, R. 
Cath. Charles ! How sound he sleeps. Charles ! 



51 THE CRIM80W LITBRT. 

Chas. Who is there ? 

Cath. It is I, your mother. 

Chas. You, madam, and at this hour ! Have I then no 
place safe from intrusion ? Will you allow me no rest, 
u either day or night? 

Cath. I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I have 
something of importance to say. Will you listen ? 

Chas. [ sitting- on side of oouah] What is it now ? It 
must be urgent business which can bring you here at this 
time of night. 

Cath. Your majesty shall judge. 

Chas. Quick, then, tell me all. 

Cath. Is it of importance for the kiig of France to know 
that at this very hour his sister is closeted with a favored 
lover. 

Chas. ( sprLnging- u;) It is false. 

Cath- Be not too hasty. Be calm. 

Chas. You dare not tell me that this thing is true. 

Cath. I left her chamber but now. 

Chas. Who is the man that dares, at this hour, remain 
in the chamber of the princess Margurette. 

Cath. Gaston De Mornay is secreted with Margurette 
de Valois ; nor is it the first time that the gaUant has been 
thus favored, 

Chas. You tell me this, because he is my friend. You 
will allow me to love nothing. 

Cath. I tell you this, because your sister's honor is at 
stake. 

Chas. Nay, you hate Margot beeause she is derr to me ; 
at one blow you would destroy the only friends that you 
have left me. 

Cath. is it to your mother 'that you address such 
language ? 



J! 



5j the CHIMSON litert. 

Chas. Pardon ! But you are deceived. 
Cath. I tell you I speak the truth. Gaston De Mornay 
is in your sister's room ! 

Chas. [ seizing- rapier from table] Then, were he twenty 
times a friend, he dies. This rapier shall seek his heart's 
best blood. ( I^tbshes to R) 

Cath. ( seizing- him) Hold ! 
Chas. Release me. I will have his life. 
Cath. Not thus — -not thus. Let there be no scandal. 
Leave all in iny hands — I lacked only your permission to 
punish the dastard as he deserves, 
Chas. Another murder ! 
Cath. 'Tis but one. 

Chas. Oh, madam, you have left too many on my con- 
science already. [ throws down ra-ier] 

Cath. Still so weak. Will you never cease to be a child. 
Are not the lives of his subjects in the hands of the king of 
France ; shall he not dispose of them as he deems best? 

Chas. I have heard all those arguments, madam. You 
have always sought to extinguish every feeling of mercy or 
justice that may have been born within my nature. You 
have given me this thirst for blood ; upon your head be the 
consequences. 

Cath. This is idle ; you will never be anything more 
than a weak, wayward child. 

Chas. Would to Heaven I were indeed a child. These 
hellish, torturing thoughts almost drive me mad. In my 
sleep the forms of those I have sent to their graves, 
rise before my vision, and each one, pointing his skinless 
finger at me, shOuts, " remember, the day of retribution 
will come." 

Cath. Give not up to these superstitious fears. 
Chas. But, madam, will these murders never cease. 



53 THB CRIMSOK LITKRT. 

Cath. Remember, I have your promise in regard to this 
young gallant, who seeks his favorite in the royal house of 
France. 
■ Chas. Aye, my word has been given. 

Cath. He has learned how a princess can love, he shall 
also learn how a king can revenge. 

Chas. Do what you will, I only ask to be left in peace. 
Cath. Gaston De Mornay's fate is sealed. 
Chas. He was my friend. 

Cath. He is your foe now, for he seeks to bring dis- 
grace upon the race of the Medici. He must die. 

Chas. Aye, take him ; deprive me of all who have cared 
for me ; leave me alone in the world, until my heart is 
wholly broken ; then, perhaps, even you may be content. 
Cath. But, my king — 

Chas. Do not answer me, do not speak. Leave me, for 
I wish to sleep. 

Cath. Nay, Charles, there is another subject of which I 
must speak. This marriage — you saw Margurette's con- 
duct to-night — it must take place at once. Jeanne is dead — 
Chas. [slowly, and looking- steadily at her'\ Aye, aye, 
Jeanne is dead ! ! 

Cath. Sufficient time has elapsed since her death for 
the marriage to take place without scruple — and 
then — ( whispers) 

Chas. Aye, do as you will. Murder all the Hugenots 
in my kingdom, and all the Catholics too, if you wish, only 
leave me. 

Cath. Good night. ( aside) Would that the craven- 
hearted fool were dead ; there is only Henry worthy to be 
called my son. ( Exit R.) 

Chas. She has driven sleep from my eyelids. I will 
walk upon the parapet. ( Exit L. ) 



54 THE CRIMSON LITEKY. 

Scene TIL Grand Saloon in the Palace. 

Fete of Charles IX. 

Charles, Henry. Catherine, and Marourette, titrolling with 
Guests, at 'back. Henry comes front. Music off. 

Hen. Amid all these pageants my heart is sad. My 
poor mother, who should have been at my side to cheer me, 
is gone forever. Louise, too, is lost to me. There seems 
nothing left to me. She whom I am about to wed dislikes 
me ; I know it, spite of all Catherine's courtesy. Her heart, 
like my own, has, perhaps, been lost long 'ere she saw me_ 
Memory carries me tar back, to my mother's castle beside 
the turbulent Gave du Pan, where I spent so many happy 
hours with Louise. Louise again ! ! I must banish such 
thoughts as these, they unnerve me. I must no longer 
think of the past ; the future looks bright and happy. A 
princess for my wife, a kingdom to rule, and perhaps the 
crown of France. Aye, let me keep the thought before me. 
The crown of France ! ! it must, it shall be mine ! 
Charles comes front, L. 

Chas. Why, why, my gallant cousin, what means this 
sober, serious face. You look as though the weight of 
twenty kingdoms rested on your shoulders. 

Hen. Pardon, your majesty, I was thinking of — 

Chas. Of some fair lady left behind ! 

Hen. [starting'] No, not that! It was of my dead 
mother. 

Chas. 8aare.' I am saved that trouble, for my mother 
thinks of me. But come, throw off this gloom. 

Hen. Aye let us on and see the gallants with the happy 
maidens, whirl in the dance. ( they retire up) 

Gaston and Margurette come front. 

Gast. Margurette, what means this coldnes s ! 



55 THE CRIMSON MTEHY. 

Marg. For Heaven sake, Gaston, forbeai- these jealous 
fears. My mother's eyes have been fixed on me the whole 
evening. I know not but at this moment she may be 
watching me. 

Gast. Forgive me, Margurette, but I cannot brook your 
coldness. 

Marg. My dear Gaston. {gives him her hand) 

Catherine cm aes front. 

Gast. Dearest Margurette, can you not escape into the 
garden for a few moment-. 

Cath. ( R) Ah, good Gaston, are you trying tt) enliven 
the princess. She is very quiet to-night. 

Gast. I was just asking the reason of her quiet demean- 
or. 

Cath. Ah, Gaston, she is jealous of the prince. 

Marg. Mother ! 

Cath. Ka ! ha ! your eyes tell the tale. Well, well, 
I will bring him to you. 

Marg. Stay, your majesty. 

Cath. See, he comes this way. Henry ! 

Henry and Chabi.es covte front, L. 

Hen. Madam. 

Cath. Our lady complains of faintness, lead her into the 
garden. 

Marg. Nay, I am perfectly well. 

Chas. How bright your eyes are to-night, Madge. Don't 
forget what the soothsayers tell us, it is^^only the approach 
of danger that makes us so reckless. ( coughs stranglingly) 
Look at our mother ! She never hears my cough without 
thinking it ihe knell which shall announce my death and 
proclaim that brute, Henry of Anjou, king of France. 

Gass. Your highness looks weary. 

Chas. And you, De Mornay, you look pale. They say 



51) THK CKIMSON LIVERY. 

a white face betokens an early death. Ha ! ha ! (Gaston and 
M^Tg-urette staH ) [ Exit ivith GastdN, L. J 

MAR(i. See how the king smiles. Oh, merciful Heaven, 
I too well know that smile. I have seen that self-same 
smile upon his lips when addressing men who in two hours 
time were in their graves. There is mortal danger. I will 
save him ! ( Exit K. ) 

Doors at back are thrown open. 

UsHEU. The banquet waits. 

Scene clones in. 

Scene IV. A Oallery adjoining Afa7-gurette\s Chamber. 
■^ Enter Margurette, R. 
Marg. Some great danger is hovering over ' my dear 
Gaston. I feel it. My mother's long silence had almost 
ilispelled my fears, but this night has given me proofs. I 
will at once to his chamber and bid him beware., Oh, 
should they slay him 'ere I reach him. Even as I passed 
throiigh tlie gallery I saw Catherine whispering to one of 
hor spies, and pointing to his chamber. This requires 
prompt action. [ takes cut dagger ] I will bear thee with me- 
for I may need thee. Aye, even though it pierced mj 
mother's heart, I will save him. Gaston, I come. Oh, that 
I may not be too late. ( Exit L) 

Scene V. Chamber of Gaston. 
Door L. 1 E. Conch. R U. E. A secret panel jast above it. 

Enter Gaston, L. 
Gast. I feel a deep, dark, foreboding What can it 
portend? There is a something whispers to me that 
danger is near. And yet Catherine was as courteouB as 
ever, and Charles was all smiles, though when I left him, 
he pressed my hand, and bade me " good night" in a 



5T THB CRIMSON LITERY. 

sh'aug-e tone. Can it be that they design to murder me as 
I sleep ? At least I will prepare for them, [takes off sword 
aun d places it o \ couoh ; looks door. Ji^usia^ 

The panel opens, and ajigtire, masked, leans over bed. with dagger. 
He raises im arm to striTce. Margdrette rushes in, L, and strihes 
aside. The man disa2)X>ears, closing pa7teL 

Marg. Gaston, Gaston, awake, they would murder you. 
Gaston starts up. 
■ Gast. Margurette ! 

Marg. [ throws her arms around him] Dear, dear, Gaston 
you are safe. I have saved you, your own Margurette. 

Gast. Dearest, why this excitement ? 

Marg. They would murder you, but they shall not do it 
while Margurette lives. 

Gast. Of whom do you speak ! 

Marg. Of Chai'les and my fiendish mother ! 

Gast. How know you tnis, Margurette ? 

Marg. Even as I entered, a man stood over you with 
raised dagger, ready to plunge it in your breast. I was 
just in time to strike the blow aside. 

Gast. Jl^07^ (l)ie\u ! ! Can it be possible ! Who was it, 
Margureite ? 

Marg. One of her hired assassins. I shudder even now 
when I think of it. 

Gast. And you saved me ! My own brave Margurette, 
how can I ever repay you ? 

Marg. By ever loving me as wildly, as passionately as I 
love you. 

Gast. Ever while I have a single heart-throb, will I love 
you, my own dear one. 

Marg. Did I not tell you that my love w onld be 
life-long ? They must seek some other means of removing 
you, for now my spirit is arousedand I shall ever be vigi- 
lant. They shall find that Margurette of Valois has a will 
as indomitable as Catherine De Medicis. 



58 THE CRIMSON I,IYEKY. 

Gast. I knew that Catberiue De Medicis was bold and 
unscrupulous, but I did not for an instant suppose that she 
would stoop so low as to attempt the life of a sleeeping man. 

Makg. Let her beware, for I swear to you, Gaston, that 
if she dare to kill you, her own life shall pay the forfeit. 
You are my heart, aye, my very life itself, and the hour 
that sees you a pallid corse, sees this dagger thrust into the 
heart of the queen Dowager of France. 

Gast. Nay, be not so wild, dearest one, there is no oc- 
casion. I shall be more careful in fuiure. 

Maro. I dare not leave you, Garton, for fear they may 
return. 

Gast. Kemeraber, Margur^tte, that I wear a sword, 
and while Gaston De Mornay hath power to wield it, his 
life is in no danger, though they may bring a score of their 
hireling cut-throats. 

Marg. Hark ! the palace is alarmed, and here comes my 
brother Charles. Ketire, Gaston. I will plead with him. 
Ke is not so cruel, and he loves me yet. [ Gaston retires LJ 
Enter Cuarles R. 

Chas. You have saved him this time, Madge. Mi^^ 
diables ! how your eyes glare ! 

Marg. Help me, Charles. Our mother would kill an 
innocent man. 

Chas. One more will make so little difference, Madge- 

Marg. But she shall not. I have sworn that she shall not. 

Chas. Nay, all th^ oaths in Christendom could never 
keep Catherine from her prey. 

Marg. What shaU I do, Charles ? 

Chas. 'I faith, 1 know not. 

Marg. But you will not be cruel, you will not drive me 
no despair. You ;ire the king of France. Hear me, 
Charles, I know you love me, and would not crush mj 
heart . 



59 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Chas. 0iahle ! appoint the day of your marriage, and you 
will find all your friends safe. 

Marg. I will, 1 will. A.ud Gaston — 

Chas. As for Monsieur De Mornay, the air of Paris is 
bad for him — I need a special messenger to go to Flanders ; 
but he must start at once. The horses are in the court- 
yard and this paper contains his instructions. 

Marg. Charles, my brother ! - [ embraces hi.m] 

Chas. Don't cry, Madge, I don't like it. And the wed- 
ding ? 

Marg. When you will. 

Chas. You will no longer oppose it ? 

Marg. No, I swear it I 

Chas. Don't, or I sahll believe it all a lie. Go about 
your work, you have little enough lime. Who is to tell the 
old tigress that her prey has escaped ? J^oH de (Xiieu ! it 
will be a pleasant task. [ g-oes R, then returns and embraces 
Mo'^gurette] Good sister, good Madge, I love you. Amid 
all the wicked purposes of my nature, there lingers yet, and 
always will, one pure and holy feeling of love for you, my 
sweet sister. I feel I have done wrong in causing you so 
much sorrow. Henceforth, Catherine De Medicis must un- 
derstand that I am king of France. Aye, I like you, Madge, 
I like Henry. You will need him when I am gone. 

{Exiit^ abruptly, R. ) 
Enter Gaston L. 

Marg. Here are the papers, Gaston. Away at once, 'ere 
she is aroused. 

Gast. Farewell, Margurette, we shall meet again under 
different prospects, when I return. 

Marg. Farewell, dear Gaston. It almost breaks my 
heart to speak the word, but it must be so, for your life 
depends upon it. When you return, I will be queen of 
Navarre. 



I 



60 THE CRIMSON LITERY. 

Gast. Macldening thought, that I must leave you to 
another's arms, No, no, I will not go. Take back the 
papers to Charles and tell him that I reject his proffered 
assistance. { throws down papers') 

Mahg. {piohitg up papers) Gaston, your life is in peril. 
For my sake go. 

Gast. For your sake ! I will. { takes papers) Farewell, 
Margurette. [ emhraoes her] Farewell. [ ' ushes out, RJ 

[ Exit Margurette L. ] 

Scene VI. Room in Cottage of Therese. 
Enter Louise and Therese, R. 

Ther. Dear mistress, are you better now. 

Lou. Yes, Therese, I am stronger than before. 

Ther. But you are too we;ik to go lo the marriage. 
You have been sick for many days. You are altered very 
much, madamoiselle, I would scarcely know you, so pale 
and thin. You are not able to go. 

Luu. I must go, Therese, do not refuse me this. 

Ther. But you are so weak, my poor mistress, you 
could never bear the crowd and the heat. 

Lou. Oh, lam strong, Therese, indeed I am. See, I can 
walk so well, now. it will not tire me in the least, and I 
must witness this marriage. 

Ther. An unlucky one, remember my words, madam- 
oiselle. 

Lou. No, no, do not say that. My poor mistress would 
never have urged it, had that been possible. Go with me, 
Therese, do not refuse me. 

Ther. Dear heart, you know when you speak that way, 
I wo uld die for you. Stay you tiere, I shall see my neigh- 
bor Babinet. Perhaps he will take us with him, for Robert, 
as usual, is on duty. ( Exit L) 



f 



I 



61 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Lou. I shall see him again. Through weeks of illness 
and grief I have looked forward to this moment. I onlj 
ask for strength to see him once again, then let me die, for 
my heart is broken. ( Jdusic Exit R) 

Scene VTI. The Great Gate of Notre Dame. 
The marriage of Henry and Margurette. 
Full stage. Peasants^ Cavaliers^ Citizens., etc. At R. corner 
Therese and Louise. 

GRAND PROCESSION. 

1. Detachment of Royal Guards— 2. Cavaliers and Ladies 
— 3 Choir Btys, chaunting—4:. Officers of the Palace — 5. Clergy 
G. Herald ~1. Master of Ceremonies — 8. Henry «/ic/ Margurette 
—9. Charles IX., and the Court, with Catherine - 10. Royal 
Guards. 

As Henry ^.>«^ses Louise, he starts. 
Lou. Take me home, take me home. 

[ Faints in Therese'' s arrns.^ 
Ihe orcwd cheer. Jifusio. 
GRAND TABLEAU. 
END OF ACT IV. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. Chamber of Margurette. 
Margurette discovered, seated at window, L. 
Marg. How strangely quiet everything is. How dark is 
the night and how oj)pres8ive the air, as if heavy with evil 
forebodings. A leaden silence seems to have fallen on 
everything. Even the soldiers move to and fro with noise- 
less tread. What can this mean ! ( takes note from bosom) 
Gaston tells me he will be here to-night. But how shall I 
meet him ! I am no longer the maiden, but a wife, and it 
is not proper tor me to meet another. Proper ! Bah ! idle 
word. My love for Gaston drowns everything, even 



I 



62 



THE CRIMSON LirERY. 



I must, I will see bim. He is my lover still, 
and my heirt is still nnob.anged. 

Eater Louise, L. 

Lou. Madnin. 

Marg ( starting) Who are you ? 

Lou. One wlio would .serve you. 

Marg. This is the apartment of the queen of Navarre. 
What do you here ? 

Lou. What do yoa here, madam, when your husband's 
life is in danger. 

Mabg. What wild tale is this. 

Lou. It is the truth, madam. 

Marg. You are crazed. Leave my apartment instantly. 

Lou. No, no. Come away, come away. 

Marg. Whither would you have me go ? 

Lou. To find jour husband ; tor the love of Heaven come. 

Marg. What danger threatens him ? 

Lou. Come away, if you would not have him murdered 
at your chamber door. 

Marg. Murdered '? What is this ? Who are you ? 

Lou, It matters not. I tell you there is no time to be 
lost. In an hour the streets of Paris will run crimson with 
blood. Save the king ! 

Marg. You must be mad, girl, to talk thus. 

Lou, I implore you lose no time. 1 knew that you must 
be ignorant of this, it could not be your work. 

Marg. Who is in danger ? ( aside) Can it be that 
Gaston is in Paris, already. 

Lou. Your husband, Henry of Navarre — you will save 
him. 

Marg. From what, from whom ? 

Lou. From Catherine De Medicis- 

Marg. Great Heaven ! ! 



-from Q)eath. 



'*' 



63 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Lou. Every Hugenot iu Paris is to be slaughtered. 
Coine, come. 

M/.RG. Be not so hasty. I know not that you speak 
the truth. 

Lou. We have only an hour left. Come 

Marg. Stop. We can do nothing this way. Give me 
time to thi nk. 

Lou. A moment's delay may prove fatal. Oh, madam, 
I beseech you come. 

Marg. Who are you ? 

Lou. I was one of the attendants of queen Jeanne. 

Marg. I do not recollect your face. Your name ! 

Lou. Louise De Villemont. 

Marg. [ lookt ig steadily at her] I aa-\, trust you. Let US 
go before Henry leaves the palace! 

Luu. Tnis way, madam, this way. Be quick, for your 
husband's life is m danger. ( Exeunt L) 

Scene II. He7t,ry's Chamber. 
Enter Henry, B. 

Hen. The Admiral gets on bravely with his highness . 
They are constantly closeted together. 

Enter Margurette aad Louise, L. 

Hen. Madam. 

Marg. Monsieur. 

Hen. You here, inadam. What procures me this pleas- 
ure. 

Marg. I come on business of life or death. 

Hen. Haste me to know it, for I am about to meet Cath- 
erine. 

Marg. Nay, you must not go. 

Hen. you are not in earnest, madam. 

Marg. I am. 



i) 



64 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Hen. Ar)d what excuse shall I make to your royal 
mother, who has sent for me. 

Marg. You must not stir — it is a trap 

Hen. What harm can Catherine De Medicis mean me. 

Marg She would kill you. 

Hen, Ha ! ha ! really. 

Marg. Do not jest. I tell you it is truth I am speaking, 

Hen. Tour proof ! 

Marg. [ leadi ig forward Louise] It is here. She can 
tell you all. 

Hen. Louise ! 

Marg. You know her ? 

Ken. Aye, as one who would die in my behalf I 

Marg. She came to warn us. You shall iiear- all. 

Hen. Louise, how came you in Paris ? 

Lou. What matters it. Death is all around us. 

Hen. Are we in danger, then V 

Lou. Aye, your life is in danger. You must seek some 
place of safety. 

Hen. Louise — 

Lou. I tell you our whole creed are doomed ! 

Hen. But they will respect the king of Navarre. 

Lou. By sunset to-morrow there will not live a Hugenot 
in all Paris. 

Marg. You hear, sire. 

Hen. Explain, Louise, How came you to know this? 

L(.>u. A faithful friend — one of the palace guard — inform, 
ed me. He has been away from Paris, and only knew it 
to-day. By his aid I am here. 

Hen. But my faithful friend. 

Lou. Alas ! the Admiral may be dead 'ere this. 

Hen. Coligny ! 

Lou. You cannot save him. Think of yourself of your 
kingdom. 



^i 



65 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

Hen. I will go to Charles ! 

Marg, Stop ! You are rushing to certain death. 

Hen. They dare not murder the king of Navarre and 
husband of Margurette De Valois. 

Marg. Charles will doubtless be inflamed with the 
wicked counsels of my mother and he alone would dare take 
your life. 

Hen. He cannot be so insane — so base — 

Marg. Remain here I will summon your friends. 

Hen. The Admiral — 

Marg. If he can be found I will bring him hither. We 
shall see if even Catherine De Medicis will dare murder her 
daughter's husband in the presence of his wife. 

Hen. Brave Margurette ! ! But my people, my poor 
Hugenots ! 

Lou. Their fate is sealed. Listen ! ( gell tolls, 8hcuts 
and ones i'^ Qowrtyard) They have begun their work. 

Louise and Margurette, the latter with dagger, stand hefore 
Henry. Shouts hen,rd, " The Admieal is dead,''' "Kill, kill/'' 

^^ During the continuation of this scene and the next,, the 
stage is filled witti clashing of swords, firing of carbines 
and the cry, 'IKillf Kill!'' 

Hen. The Admiral ! My poor Coligny ! The prophecy, 
Louise, remember, ' the marriage liveries shall be crimson, 
crimson. ' 

Lou. Give not up to despair. 

Hen. Despair ? No ! Do not keep me here, let me go 
forth with my sword in my hand, and die like a man 

Lou. No, no, you shall not go. Henry, I beseech you, 
hear me, 'tis Louise that asks it. 

Marg. Remain here. Put out the lights, retire into the 
ante-chamber, and for your lives, stir not till I return. 

( Exit R) 
Henry and Louise exeunt. L 



fe 



66 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

8cENE ITI. Tableau. Massacre of St. Bartholemew. 

Scene IV. Banquettmg Room in the Palace. 

Wi?iclow, L. U. E. Carhmes against wall. R. 

Enter Charles R. 

Chas. By St. Paul ! the work goes bravely on. The 
hounds quickly sink beneath the fierce blows of my mad- 
dened soldiers. { goesto vjindow) Kill! kill! See, how the 
wretches fly. There stands one, and around him tive of my 
soldiers. Well done, Hugenot, he has slain two, and nobly 
yet he holds his own At last he is down. Kill ! kill ! 
There flies a mother with her babe. Spare not the child, 
villian or your own life will be in peril. Ah, I can look no 
more. Brute as I am, this sight sickens me. 
Enter Catherine. R. 

C.^TH. Listen I These are the marriage shouth. Ha ! ha ! 

Chas. But, madam, I feel that this wholesale murder 
will recoil upon us 

Cath. Shame, Charles, shame. At this time, when 
your foes are sinking around, and their blood firmly cement- 
ing the t,hrone of France 1 

Chas. It is the blood that sickens me. ( atag-g-ers from 
Lur . doiu ) 

Cath. Fool ! Idiot ! will you pause now ! 

Char. Woman, for this night's work yovi are to blame. 
Your wicked couasels led me to this murder. On your 
head be the consequencs. 

C.\TH. Ha! ha! hear you those shouts, kill, kill. 
Enter D'Anjou 

D'Anj. The dogs, now they run. See that villian, how 
he fights. He has slain one of the guard. Quick, a car- 
bine. Ifires carbine] So, he is down. 

Cath. Come, Charles, arouse. The .\dtnirai is dead. 
Charles, do vou hear. 



-) 



67 THE CRIMSON LTVERY. 

Chas. Let them all perish, then. Quick, give me a 
carbine, {fires carbine) 

Cath. You missed him. See how scornfully he looks at 
you 

Chas. Another carbine. Quick! this time I pierce his 
heart. ( fires carbine ) 

Cath. Well done. See, he fell without a struggle. 
This is a gala-night. In all yv)nr hun^ ■ you never had such 
sport as this. 

Chas. Kill ! kill ! Spare none [ se zes carbr-.e) See that 
wretch iiow he runs, {fi es) Ho is down! ha ! ha ! another 
carbine — quick, Aujou — hurrah for the hunt — kill, kill. 
Margurette apijears, R. 1. E. 

Makg. Alas ! I can obtain no help from Charles. He is 
beside himself with passion and the sight of me would only 
infuriate hitu more, and seal Henry, s fate. I nmst search 
further. ( Exit Rj 

Chas. Where lurk's their king? Why does he not come 
forth to the hunt. Ha ! ha ! Kill ! kill ! 

Cath. The scorn and insults of years are now being 
avenged. Kill ! kih ! 

Hcene closes . in . 

Scene V. Henry''s Chamber. Same as Scene II. 

Enter Louise and Henry, L. 

He:>. Margarecoe's protracced auseuce causes me to fear 
for tne worst. 

Loo. Oh, sire had you but listened to your mother. 

Hen. Aye, sbe counselled me to reject this marriage, 
but I, led by ambitious hopes, madly plunged onward into 
ruin. Tell me of my mother's death, Louise. Was it calm 
and peaceful. 

Lou. She died with the fever raging in her veins, her 
brain distracted. 



68 THE CRIMSON LIVEUY. 

Hen. It came so sudden that I scarce could realize it. 

Lou. It was sudden ; Henry, there was foul play. 

Hen. Groat Heaven ! is it possible. 

Lou. Now that Catherine has become so bold, in mur- 
dering thousiinds, I do not hes-dtatf 'o say that my poor 
mistress was her victim. 

Hen. And I to wed the daughter of my mother's mur- 
derer 

Lou. The queen took strangely ill. I watched by her 
bedside. She died raving, telling me that she had been 
poisoned, bidding you to beware. T left her bedside with 
the resolution to save you if I could. 

Hen. How came you to Paris, Louise V 

Lou. You recollect old Etienne V 

Hen. I do, and had I heeded his warning, I would not 
have been in this desperate situation. 

Lou. Etienne died ere you w( re many miles on your 
way to Pai'is. I gave him a promise to follow after and to 
warn you of the impending danger. He died and I follow- 
ed you to Paris. Many weary days of sickness have I pass- 
ed, but the thought of saving you strengthened me. 

Hen. And for me you have given up youth and pleasure 
almost life itself. Dear, dear, Louise ! 

Lou. Silence, I command you. Remember you are the 
husband of Margurette De Valois. 

Hen. Nay, Louise, 1 loved you long ago, when you was 
a happy maiden, and i a happy wooer. 

Lou. Henry,' do not, I implore you, do not torture me 
thus. I cannot, must not listen to such language. 

Hen. At this hour, when all around breathes ot death, 
it is meet that we should know each other. 

Lou, J)o not force me to blush for you, Henry. The 
love we bore each other was buried long ago, in the palace 
from which it sprang. 



69 THE CRIMSON LTVERY. 

Hen. Oh, Louise, had this wild ambition, this desire to 
grasp the throne of France, been crushed, your heart would 
not have been broken, ray mother's life sacrificed, my people 
murdered. 

Lou. It is useless to repine. The danger new threatens 
you, my king. 

Hen. But my poor people, my poor Hugenots ! Will 
they all be murdered, Louise ? 

Lou. Aye, not one will escape. The fiends of Hell have 
broken loose, and glut themselves with blood, and right 
noble blood, too. 

Hen. My people, oh, my poor people! M}^ mother's 
wai'ning ; that old man's prophecy ! Oh, Louise, Louise, 
my marriage liveries are crimson indeed, red with the blood 
of my noblest subjects. 

Lou. I know, I know. But you must think of yourself 
now — your life mvist not be sacrified. 

Hen. You have saved it, my preserver, Louise. 

Lou. Hayk, they are coming. Back, back ! I will see 
if the gallery is clear. • ( Exit R) 

[ (Pistol shot heard LouISE staggers i^, R. and falls, ^ 

Hen. [ raising her] My God, oh, my God ! ! Louise, 
Louise ! They have killed her. 

Lou. Henry, lift me up. Gently, they have given me 
my death wound. 

Hen. You must not die, Louise. This fills my cup of 
bitterness to the brim. 

Lou. There is no harm now in talking as we did of old, 
in the castle in Pau. Henry, I loved you then, very fondly 
very dearly, almost to idolatry. Day after day, week after 
week, and you were at my side, to make the world bright 
and serene. • 

Hen. Curses on the hour I left that home. 



70 THE CKIilSON LIVEKY. 

Lou. When Etienne told me that you were about to wed 
the princess of France, I did not believe him. But you, 
with your own lips, told me it was true. From that time to 
this, my path has been dark and cheerless. This wound 
has .shortened my life but a few hours. Oh, the terrible 
pain that tears me. It is over now. A holy pea ce is set- 
tling on me. I am going to that bright home. See, your 
mother stands at the gaie and beckons me to come. 
Farewell — Henry- — my — -king. [ dies] 

Hen. I will bear her to the inner chamber, or these 
fiends may further desecrate my idol. Louise, Louise ! 

( bears her off, L. ) 

Scene VI. Banqiietting Room. {Same as Scene IV.) 
Charles rushes in R., toith Catherine. 

Chas. Kill! kill! 

Enter Henry, R. 

Ha ! you here ! Come forth. Death or the mass. 
Decide — decide — 

Hen. Unhand me, ruffian king. 

Chas. See, see your subjects how they run. Is it not a 
noble spectacle. 

Hen. Sire, it shall be remembered, and Henry of 
Navarre will fearfully avenge this massacre. 

Chas. Choose ! Death or the mass. 

Hen. Dare but place your polluted, blood-stained' hands 
upon my person again, and my sword will seek your heart. 

Cath . He is wild. Back, Charles. 

Hen. And you, madam„have you counseled this murder. 

Cath. Sir, you must use more fitting language when 
you address the queen Dowager of France. 

Hen. Aye, boast of it, madam. Queen Dowager of 
France, I tell you, all future generations wiU curiae yonr 



1 



71 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

memory, and that of your incarnate demon of a son. The 
murder of Jeanne will be lo'hg remembered, but this night's 
work will blacken history's page. 

Chas. 1 tell you decide, death or the mti-s. 
Enter Margurette, R. 

Makg. King of France, hold. Know you whom you 
question 

Chas. Back, Madge, or I may slay you. My fury knows 
no distinction ot persons. 

Marg. I do not fear your fury. Back, I say, or I, Mar- 
gurette, queen of Navarre, may teach you a lesson, that 
will cause your blood-stained soul to shudder. 

Chas. He shall decide — death or the mass. 

Marg. He is my husband. Harm one hair of his head 
and I will take swift and sure vengeance. 

Chas. Take him away, then, or I will kill him. Take 
him away. Death or the mass. 

Exit Margorette and Henry, L. 

Cath. [ looking f om window Lj Ha ! there comes De 
Mornay. He has returned in season. Kill him ! the man 
on horseback — a traitor — a Hugenot — kill him. They sur- 
round him. See how he struggles. Ah, Gaston De Mor- 
nay, you shall now feel my vengeance. It has been long 
delayed, but it has come at last. He is off his horse, he is 
down. No, he is up again. Kill hiai, kill him. See, he 
runs for the palace, he enters the vestibule. After him, 
fools, cowards, will you let him escape ! ■ * 

Enter Gaston L. bleeding. 

GrAST. Madam, save me, mj queen — 

Cath. Save you ? You, Gaston De Mornay ! No, your 
heart's blood shall be poured out as a means of satisfying 
my vengeance. 

Gast. Do not suffer me lo be slain like some vile cur. 

Cath. You rejected my love, aye, the love of the queen 



3 



72 THE CRIMSON LIVERY. 

of France, for her daughter. The Medici iiever forgive. 
Here, villians, here is a traitor, kill him. 
Gast. Madam, you cannot be so cruel. 

Enter Soldiers, R. 
Cath. Kill him — he is a traitor — a Hugenot. 

[ Exeunt Gaston. B., fighting, Cath. cm/^ Chas. L| 

Scene VII. A Chnmber Door R. 

Gast. ( without) Margurette. 

Enter Margurette, L. 

Marg. What voice is that 

Gast.- Margurette. 

Marg. Ah, it is Gaston. ( opens door) 

Gaston staggers in. Soldiers attempt to follow. 

Marg. Back, bloodhounds. 

Soldiers. Kill him, kill him. 

Marg, Back, I say. I am the sister of your king. 

Soldiers. Death to the Hugenot — down with the traitor- 

Marg. No, no, he is a Catholic, Back, I s ay . [forces 
soldiers out. Supporting- Gaston.] Gaston, speak to nie, are 
you hurt". 

Gast. It is nothing — Margurette, my own. 

Marg . Ah, see, the blood issues from countless wounds. 
Oh, Gaston, they have killed you, my own Gaston. 

Gast. Do not despair. I am only weak from loss of blood 

Soldiers. ( without) Open the door. 

Marg. What would you ? 

Sold. To kill the traitor. Open. 

Marg. Never ! 

Soldier's force door. 

Marg. ( rushing- to door) Back ! this is my chamber. 
Dare set one foot wiihin, and your doom^is sealed. [ soldiers 
thnost her aside, and attadk Qaston,. She'throws herself between 
them] They will murder him before my eyes. Villians, I 



~'' -Mi. 



¥'f 



(I 



73 THE CKIMSON liTVERY. 

will be the destruction of you all. I tell you I am the sister 
of your king. Another blow and I summon Charles of 
France. ( exeu-' t Soldiers. Gaston sinks to stage Look up, 
lookup, Gaston. 

Gast. Margurette, I am dying. A few moments more 
and these gaping wounds will be drenched in my life's blood. 

Marg. Wlio ordered this attack. Tell me, Gaston. I 
will seek the king, and have them put to instant death. 

Gast. Nay, you have not the power. It was your 
mother. 

Makg. Do I dream ? My mother ! Has she your life 
upon her soul, too ? 

Gast. Aye, she set the ruffians on me. I fled and sued 
to her for mercy. She denied it. 

Marg. And is it thus you return ? I have looked for- 
ward with pleasure to this meeting, but not thus, not thus. 

Gast. It is almost over. Clasp your arms around me, 
Margurette, tell me thae you love me still. 

Marg. Aye, Gaston, as wildly as ever. Do not leave me, 
Gaston, I cannot live without yoa. 

Gast. Kemeraber me kindly, Margurette — when you sit 
upon — the throne of Navarre . Let Gaston De Mornay be 
— ever present m your thoughts. 

Marg. Gaston, dear Gaston, what means this paleness ? 

Gast . It is death. L feel him clasp his icy fingers round 
my heart. Come closer, Margurette, closer,I cannot see you 
now. Press your lips upon my brow . So, I am easier now. 

Marg. Oh, that I could die with you, Gaston- 

Gast. No, rather live and be happy. I am going — 
darkness gathers around me — farewell, Margurette — quick 
— a kiss — so — farewell. ■ \_ dies] 

Marg. Ah . [faints] 

Cath. ( glides in, R.T The honor of the Medici is 
avenged. 

TABLEAU. 
• Slow Curtain. End of (X>ram,a. 



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